


An Echo Between Us

by funfanfin



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Post Season 2, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, a world where no Pike/COL/Polis aka a better world, happy ending because they deserve it, lincoln is alive, monroe is alive, post season 2 ft. closure comfort healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6955951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funfanfin/pseuds/funfanfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke didn’t believe in soulmates, not really. She didn’t believe in being a ‘half’ to someone’s ‘whole’.</p><p>But Clarke believed in Bellamy. She always had, and she always would. And she believed, with every shred of her tattered soul, that this was where they were always supposed to be.</p><p>Together.</p><p> <br/>SUMMARY- Bellamy/Clarke reuniting/angsting/healing/coming back together after the events of Season 2. Minor Becho (I started writing this before S3 so she's not a backstabbing jerk) but it's MINOR. Don't dismiss the fic because of that, I promise you this fic's main focus is Bellamy and Clarke and not an unnecessary love triangle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "She's not coming back."

**Author's Note:**

> To all of you readers you waited forever for me to finish this story, only to find out I had orphaned my ao3 account, deleted my ff.net account, and deleted my tumblr, this is dedicated to you. A lot of real life stuff happened, and I'm sorry for disappearing off the face of the Earth like I was Kyle Wick.

"Stop." Octavia sighed. "Enough already. She's not coming back, Bell. You and I both know that."

Shifting his weight, he kept his eyes trained on the forest before him, scanning the woods horizontally. "Believe it or not, O, I have a job to do. And that job just so happens to include keeping watch," he said gruffly.

Having lived in the same room as him for mostly her whole life gave Octavia the advantage of knowing when her older brother was lying. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that," She said softly, before handing him a cup of hot tea and leaving.

Sipping the tea carefully, he thought about  _her._  He wondered if she was even still alive, it had been months after all. Gripping the mug tighter, he remembered how she had left with only the clothes on her back. If she was alive, there was no way she would survive the winter alone.  _Come back, Clarke, before you die out there._

"Bellamy." A sharp, familiar voice demanded his attention. He took one last sweep over the forest before looking back at the beautiful, tough woman behind him.

"Echo."

"You are going to freeze," she stated matter-of-factly, her accent painting every word. He liked the way she spoke, the blunt sincerity in her speech was refreshing. Her cheeks were pink, yet she only wore a simple fur jacket. Whenever Bellamy complained about the cold, she slapped his arm teasingly and told him that he had  _no_  idea what cold was. Echo would know, after all, having spent her childhood surrounded by ice.

"Come inside," Echo commanded. Bellamy followed her back into the camp, his hand entwined with hers but his mind haunted with a memory he wished he could forget.

 _Please come inside._ It hadn't been enough.  _He_  hadn't been enough.

He was enough for Echo, though, and she was enough for him.

* * *

Clarke was freezing. Crying out in frustration, she abandoned the kindling. All of the wood was damp, and creating a fire was nearly impossible with numb fingers and blurred vision. Tears of frustration tickled her frozen cheeks.

She needed to go back.

It didn't matter if she wanted to or not anymore. Clarke had no supplies, no coat, and no food. It was a matter of life and death. She had survived the impossible, and if she was going to die it wasn't going to be because of a little snow and starvation.  _Maybe it would be better if I did die out here,_  she thought,  _I'm a monster_. Her thoughts flew back to Bellamy, remembering how he had called himself a monster once too. Maybe in the beginning, he was one, but Clarke had grown to understand why he had done the things he had done. She knew that Bellamy understood why she had done the things she had done, too.

_I have to save them._

She felt the all-too familiar feeling of her throat closing up. Clarke forced herself to look up, into the sun, at the trees, at the clouds, anything to distract her from the haunting images of Maya, Dante, and the hundreds of burned corpses in between.

"I can't go back," she said out loud, voice cracking. "I can't face them."

A stubborn, clinical voice inside her replied, "You have to. Or you'll die. Do you want to lose your toes? Didn't think so. Start moving Clarke."

Camp Jaha was a two week journey from her current location. If she was lucky, she'd make it to the Camp before the snow got worse. At first, it melted by the time the sun rose. Lately, however, the snow was more inclined to stubbornly stick to the ground, which was not a good sign. And so, Clarke did what she always did. She got up, brushed herself off, and started moving.

* * *

Bellamy lay awake, playing with Echo's hair as she lay on his chest, sound asleep. He smiled to himself. She was fierce as hell when she was awake, but asleep, she was calm, soft, and quite frankly, a serene kind of beautiful. Echo looked at peace, and he thought about how lucky he was to be able to see a side of her no one else did.

After Mount Weather, Echo had accompanied them back to Camp Jaha. Her loyalties were not to Commander Lexa, and Abby had promised to give medical care to anyone who had helped the Sky People, grounders included. Echo had convinced a number of grounders to sign an alliance with the Sky People, in exchange for medical care and shelter for the time being. Abby had taken the time to teach Echo, and Echo had spent many weeks caring for the grounders that had stayed behind.

Bellamy had known Echo from their brief meeting in Mount Weather, but hardly spoke to her when she had come back with them. For the first few weeks, all Bellamy could think about was  _her_ , the girl who dropped a mountain of responsibility on his shoulders, kissed him on the cheek, and never looked back. However, after a hunting trip accident brought Bellamy to the medical bay, Echo tended to his wounds, first physical, and then slowly, she tended to his emotional ones as well. They opened up to each other, two people from drastically different backgrounds, but both stubborn, hardheaded, and passionate about protecting those they loved. Both of them were in positions to influence their people significantly, a burden they had often shared.

Not to mention Echo owed Bellamy her life. He had promised to come back for her, to save her, and he did. But Bellamy also owed Echo his life. She had saved him, even if she didn't know it. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before a familiar bitterness seeped into his heart.  _Clarke_  had _left_  him to deal with the guilt of murdering hundreds of people,  _alone_. How could she not have realized that he was in as much pain as she was? That he would never forget that he had executed men, women, and  _children_. That he  _needed_  her to get through the guilt?

At least he had Octavia and Echo, who constantly reminded him that he did what he did to save their lives. Looking at them, he could slay his demons alone for the time being.

_What I did—_

_What WE did._

Bellamy ignored the aching in his heart, pulling Echo closer to him, hoping she could remedy it.

"Bellamy?" She asked sleepily.

"I just—I  _need_  you." He kissed her exposed neck, and her surprised laughter vibrated through the exposed skin. Pulling his chin up, her lips met his and Bellamy replaced all thoughts of the blonde haired girl from his past with thoughts of the brown haired girl in his bed.


	2. A Blonde Haired Ghost

Clarke stumbled, again.

 _When was the last time I ate?_  She wondered as she fell.

 _I think we deserve a drink,_  his voice came to her mind, as it often did.

_Have one for me._

Ignoring the stabbing pain in her thigh from the sharp, jutting rock she had landed on, she pushed herself up, shaking. It was times like these, desperate times, when Clarke wondered if she had been wrong in leaving Camp Jaha. Maybe if she had stayed, even for a little bit, maybe she would have healed faster. Maybe she could have learned to forgive herself.

Her heart began racing, from fatigue or anxiety Clarke didn't know. Would they understand? She hoped Raven still did. Would Jasper? Definitely not. Had Octavia forgiven her for TonDC yet? Probably not. Clarke hadn't even said goodbye to her mother. What would she say? Did she even miss her?

Did Bellamy?

If she was being completely honest with herself, she often found herself wondering why he hadn't come looking for her. But then she remembered what she asked him to do.

_Take care of them for me._

She knew he would. Bellamy would take care of them, for as long as he needed to. Still, deep down, in a selfish place, she wished he would have come looking for her. Maybe he could have convinced to her to return to camp before, when she was in fairly good health, instead of now, thigh bleeding, face hollow, and half-frozen.

Climbing over a ridge, she saw it.

Camp Jaha.

Overwhelmed and underfed, Clarke collapsed on the ridge.

* * *

Bellamy was doing his morning rounds, scanning the woods, when he saw her.

A blonde haired ghost, sickly grey and bleeding, standing on the ridge.

_Clarke._

He watched, dazed and filled with unbelief, as she tumbled to the ground. Barking at the guards to open the gate, Bellamy shoved his way through.

He had never run so fast in his life.

She had landed on her back, a deep crimson staining her pant leg, mud covering her face, and bruises on her arms. Tears stung his eyes at the sight as he quickly put an arm under her knees and another under her neck. _She's too small she's too small she's too small_ , he thought, seeing her ribs poking through her shirt.

"Clarke," he choked out. "Clarke, it's going to be okay. You're going to be okay."

Her eyes fluttered open and closed erratically. "No please…no I didnwanthis…no! I'm sorry…sorry…Nochoice…" she whimpered, and Bellamy's pace quickened as he realized her words were slurring together.

"Clarke." Bellamy grit his teeth as he flew past the gate and towards the medical bay. "Don't you dare die."

Ignoring the growing commotion around him, as the people in the camp realized who exactly was in Bellamy's arms, he made his way to the medbay.

He pushed through the doors and set her gently on the table, yelling, "Abby! It's Clarke! She needs help!"

Abby was in the medbay in an instant, looking around frantically. "Did someone say Clarke?!"

Bellamy shouted, "Over here! Now!"

The doctor and mother came into view, eyes brimming with tears as she put her hands over her mouth at the sight of her seemingly lifeless daughter. Bellamy pleaded, "Abby, please, she needs help!"

Taking a deep breath, Abby brushed away the tears and entered what Bellamy recognized as her "Clinical Mode". She assessed the injuries, told Jackson what supplies she would need, and told Bellamy to guard the door until Clarke was stable.

Nodding, Bellamy began leaving when a weak hand grasped his wrist. He turned to see hollow, blue eyes staring up at him. Fingernails gripped his flesh, struggling to pull him close. Stunned, Bellamy bent down closer to her.

Clarke's other hand, trembling, reached up to brush his cheek. Bellamy shivered at how cold her fingers felt against his skin. Then, he shivered because he realized that Clarke was laying in front of him, staring into his eyes deeply.  _She's alive. She's alive._

"Bellamy…" she whispered hoarsely, wonder in her voice. A smile appeared on her thin face. "Bellamy…" she repeated, before her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

"Bellamy I need you to guard the door! Jackson get in here  _NOW!_ " Abby shouted, fear in her voice as her daughter began to seize.

It took everything Bellamy had in him to stay at the door of the medbay, making sure no one entered.

_She's alive._


	3. Echo?

Four days later, Clarke woke up in a bed.  _A bed._ A warm, soft, comfortable bed. The last time she had woken up in such accommodating circumstances, she was in—

Mount Weather.

She was back, back in that cold, isolated room that was too bright and too clean and too white. A scream climbed its way up her dry throat, threatening to escape. Fingers grabbed the sheets tightly and she squeezed her eyes shut.  _No, no, no, no, no, this isn't possible. This isn't real._ Clarke tried to reassure herself.

After a few seconds, her clenched fingers relaxed.  _It isn't real. Of course it isn't real. Don't you remember, Clarke? You killed_ everyone _in Mount Weather. Don't you remember pulling the lever?_

"Enough!" she pleaded, opening her eyes and focusing on her surroundings, on what was real.  _The medbay_ , _you're in the medbay_. The faint memory of being gently carried entered her mind, interrupted by muffled shouting. Voices argued in the hallway beyond the door.

"— _gone for months and you just expect us to wait outside?! Like hell we will, Abby. Get out of the way."_

" _She nearly died, Raven! She needs to rest!"_

A softer voice interjected firmly, " _No, she needs her friends._ "

A loud, exasperated sigh was heard, followed by the sound of the door opening. An exhausted looking Abby walked in, along with Raven, Octavia, and Monty.

"Clarke!" Monty rushed over and tentatively held out his arms, as if he wasn't sure whether or not she was well enough to be hugged. Clarke smiled, embracing him tightly.

"It's good to see you, Monty," she said, genuinely happy to see him.

Raven was next, a radiant smile gracing her face. "About time you came home."

Octavia stood at the edge of the bed, an expression on her face that Clarke couldn't read. She didn't meet Clarke's eyes. "You've been missed," she stated brusquely.

An uncomfortable aura filled with the memories of TonDC permeated the room.

To everyone's relief, Monty broke the sudden tension, asking, "How are you feeling?"

The brief thought to answer honestly crossed her mind.  _Physically, my whole body aches. Mentally? Let's not even go there._

"I'm fine," she said, plastering a smile to her face.

"More people wanted to come and see you, but your mom went all Chancellor on them." Raven grinned.

Abby, who hadn't said a word since entering but had yawned twice, just gazed at Clarke. Raven nudged her, an action that resulted in bloodshot eyes glaring back at her. "Watch it, Raven. I only let you three in here because you promised to be on your best behaviors," She warned lightly. Abby turned her attention back to Clarke. "I wasn't sure if you were ready to see anyone just yet. I wanted to make sure you were okay first."

"I feel fine now. Great, even," Clarke lied. They sat, watching her. Clarke had no doubts that they wanted to know the details of her lonely exodus, but no one dared ask. Uneasy under the observation of her three friends and her mother/doctor, she inquired, "How is everyone?"

Octavia's response was a little too annoyed, a little too rough to be polite. "They're great."

Dropping her eyes to her fingers, Clarke picked at her bleeding cuticles. "Jasper?"

Monty stirred. "He's…angry." Noticing that Clarke's shoulders had dropped slightly, he quickly added, "Not just at you! He's mad at me, too. At everyone, really. He usually takes the night shift keeping watch on the fence."

Expecting that much, Clarke nodded. "What about Miller, Monroe? Harper?" She asked. One of the only things that ever made her guilt subside, even if only for a brief moment, was the memory of those who were now free and alive, instead of having their blood and bone marrow sucked dry.

Smiling, Abby replied, "They're all doing really well."

Relief washed through Clarke. There was just one person left to ask about, the one person she had been _dying_  to ask about as soon as she noticed he was missing from the small welcoming party.  _Why isn't he here? Where is he?_ She wondered.  _Is he okay?_

Clarke did her best to keep her voice casual. "And Bellamy?"

The glance shared by Octavia and Raven did not go unnoticed. "He's been…busy," Raven began, her bright, genuine smile morphing into a forced, tight one. "Kane's been having him work on strengthening the Camp's security. He's probably out somewhere with Echo now."

Monty nodded. "Yeah, I think I saw them walking by the fence earlier."

"Echo?" The name was unfamiliar to Clarke. She couldn't remember ever meeting someone named Echo. Had he been one of the Arkers who had come down with her mother and the others?

Another glance was shared. Octavia answered this time. "She's a grounder that came back with us after Mount Weather." She twisted one of her braids, confessing, "If it weren't for her, I don't know how Bell could have done it."

 _Grounder? She?_ "Done what?" Clarke asked, confused and more than a little concerned by the news of this grounder.

Octavia glared, her hazel eyes burning fiercely. "Oh, I don't know, Clarke. Deal with the fact that he murdered an entire community of people and then was left behind to suffer through it alone, maybe?"

The words stung more than any physical pain Clarke had felt, and she flinched. Octavia ignored the reaction, remembering how hard it had been for her older brother at first, even if he had been too stubborn to admit that he was struggling.

Octavia's voice turned caustic. "He told me that you two pulled that lever  _together._  And then you  _left_ him."

Stunned, Clarke found no retort waiting on her tongue, praying that Raven or her mother or even Monty would come to her rescue. They didn't. Realizing that they must have held the same opinion as Octavia did, Clarke held her breath, unable to react properly. She watched, still speechless, as Octavia turned to leave.

"It's not a surprise that he hasn't come to see you yet, not after what you did to him. I wouldn't come either," Octavia declared mercilessly, leaving the room.

The silence was in the room was excruciating. After a few moments, Raven spoke, her eyes downcast. "Clarke," she bit her lip, "Bellamy just needs time to process that you're back. I'll try and talk him into coming in later."

Looking at Raven and Monty, Abby suggested that it was time to let Clarke rest.

Monty said a few more warm words of welcome to her. Abby promised they'd be back later with Miller, Monroe, Harper, and food.

With that, they left Clarke sitting in her bed, feeling more alone than she had ever felt during the time she had spent in the secluded woods.

* * *

"Bellamy," Raven warned.

"No. Not gonna happen."

She gripped his forearm tightly, restricting him from leaving the tent.

He huffed. "Let go of me, Raven."

"Stop being such a stubborn asshole and I will," she retorted.

He scowled. "She's alive, she's safe, and she's back home. There's no reason for me to go see her."

Groaning, Raven suppressed the urge to slap him. "I already told you the reason. She needs to see you."

"Did she tell you that?" Bellamy scoffed when she didn't answer. "She doesn't need me. Look, Raven, I thought I needed her for a long time, but I ended up doing just fine without her. She'll survive just fine without me too."

"Right. Just to clarify, you mean  _just fine_  as in not sleeping, not eating, and being in a continual state of broodiness? Yeah, that sounds  _just fine_  to me _,_ " Raven muttered, not bothering to be subtle with her sarcasm. "Just go see her."

He let out long sigh, thinking for a moment. His reply came in a low voice, stained with shame, guilt, and slight desperation. "I can't, Raven. Okay?  _I can't_."

Taken aback by the deep pain that manifested in his eyes, Raven let go of Bellamy's arm, letting him brush past her to the door of the tent.

"You're going to have to face her eventually, Bellamy," she called after him.

Unsurprisingly, he ignored her.

 _She didn't need you after Mount Weather, so she doesn't need you now...Right?_ Bellamy shook away the thoughts swirling in his mind as he walked across Camp Jaha.


	4. Freckles Made of Glass

Two nights later, Bellamy took hesitant, heavy steps towards the door of the medbay.

"Damn you, Raven." He took a deep breath, pushing the door open. He had left Echo sleeping in his bed. They hadn't talked about why Bellamy had been so tense the past few days, but he was sure Echo knew. She knew that Clarke had been his co-leader, his partner, and his best friend, and she must have determined that her sudden reappearance had thrown him off balance. Bellamy hadn't talked to her about Clarke, about what she had meant to him, about the fact that he hadn't been able to make her stay.

He would talk to Echo about it in the morning, he decided. First, he needed an answer. Quietly, Bellamy stepped over to Clarke's bed.

Blonde hair, wavy as ever, was strewn over her sleeping face carelessly. She was frowning, her eyebrows scrunched together in a way that made Bellamy regret not coming to see her earlier. He understood why she left. He _understood_. If she hadn't asked him to take care of the rest of the 100, he might have left too. As much as he understood, though, it was never enough to keep him from thinking that if she had stayed, they could have healed,  _together._

Instead, he had to deal with the nightmares, the flashbacks, and the depression alone. Sure, he had O, and now Echo, but they didn't understand, not really. They hadn't pulled the lever with him. They hadn't made a child fatherless, only to murder that child too. They never interacted with the very people they had sentenced to death.

Bellamy had even tried talking to Monty, but it was pointless. Whenever Monty was overcome with guilt, he buried himself in a new project. When that happened, he would disappear for a few days, tinkering, inventing, doing anything to keep his mind off Mount Weather.

A cry brought him out of his thoughts. Clarke's face was twisted downward, and she writhed in the bed. She was talking in her sleep.

"Don't do this Lexa…don't do this!" she murmured, strained.

"Clarke," Bellamy's hand hovered over her shoulder for a moment before he gently shook her, "Clarke, it's Bellamy. Wake up, it's just a nightmare."

But Bellamy knew that they were more than just nightmares. Each night, he entered his own personal hell, decorated with the faces of those who had suffered death by his hands.

Clarke let out a whimper. "No…no I was wrong," she cried. "It wasn't worth the risk.."

He swore his heart stopped. Was she dreaming about him? It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. After all, he had had one too many nightmares about her. In them, she was always in danger, always out of his reach, and always ended up six feet underground.

She gasped. "Bellamy..." Her hands flew up from under the covers, and she began scrubbing them, _hard_. "I killed you…" Clarke whispered. " _I killed you_!"

"Come on, wake up," he said, teeth clenched. He had pulled her hands apart, to keep her from scratching her skin clean off. She struggled against his grip, tears running down her cheeks.

Bellamy was getting desperate. " _CLARKE!_ " He bellowed, his face inches from her own.

Her eyes flew open. Blinking at him with disbelief in her eyes, she shook her head slightly. He released her hands and Clarke raised them, slowly, to his face. Her slender fingertips touched his face cautiously, lightly, as if using too much pressure would cause Bellamy to shatter. She traced the designs made by his freckles, and her breath was shallow against his skin as she whispered his name.

"Bellamy…"

Drinking in the way his name sounded in her breathless, low voice, he leaned closer.

Her fingers made their way to the sides of his face, and her thumb brushed his bottom lip tenderly. Bellamy closed his eyes, partly to stop his head from spinning and partly so that his senses could focus solely on how soft her touch was to his skin.

"Clarke, I—" he began, wanting to apologize and explain why he hadn't been able to come sooner, to tell her how much he had missed her.

His deep voice seemed to bring Clarke back into reality, the reality where Clarke never did anything this intimate with Bellamy. The reality where her actions had caused Octavia to verbally slap her and where it had taken Bellamy  _six_ days to come and see her.

She moved back, gathering the sheets around her and avoiding eye contact. "Thank you," she said shakily. Bellamy stepped back, not knowing what she was thanking him for. Clarke cleared her throat. "Thank you for carrying me here," she clarified, shrinking into her bed, head sinking into the pillow.

Bellamy swallowed, heart still racing from the close encounter. She had barely touched him, had _innocently_  touched him, and yet he felt like in those few moments, he had walked into a heaven he knew he wasn't worthy of entering.

Clenching his jaw, he asked her the one question that had brought him to the medbay in the first place. "Are you staying?"

Staring at the ceiling, she nodded. "Yes," her voice was barely audible. "I'm staying."

Clarke turned away from him, sheet pulled up to her neck, effectively ending the conversation.

He all but fled the room, mind screaming at him and heart still beating unnaturally fast as he walked to his tent.  _What the hell was that?!_  He mentally berated himself. When he had made up his mind to go see her, he was going to be cold, formal, and impersonal towards her. He was going to ask her if she was staying, and then he was going to leave. He didn't care about where she went, he didn't want to know how she was doing. She didn't need him, he didn't need her, that had already been established in Bellamy's mind. So then  _wh_ _at the hell was that?!_

Kicking his boots off, he stepped inside the makeshift tent.

"Bellamy," Echo greeted him at the door. Eyes narrowed, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You went to see Clarke."

It wasn't a question.


	5. Atlas

"Yeah, I went to see Clarke," Bellamy said, a little more defensively than he had meant to.

He waited for the angry outburst he knew would never come. His relationship with Echo was…difficult to define. It was amorphous, lacked a label, and was therefore unpredictable and irregular. Some days, Echo and Bellamy would spend all night talking about their extremely different upbringings, sharing their various past experiences and their hopes for their future. Other days, they would hardly speak a word to each other. On days like that, Bellamy would sometimes see her hastily leaving a tent belonging to another grounder, her clothing and hair in a state of dishevelment. He had been annoyed at her actions at first, but figured that he had no right to be. He had never expected her to be devoted solely to him and she had not expected that from him either.

Echo had helped Bellamy get through nightmare-filled nights and flashback-filled days. Listening attentively, she would comfort him as he confronted his past. Whenever he was having a particularly awful day (often after an unpleasant encounter with Jasper), she would remind him about how he had done the right thing in the Mountain. She would bring up examples of all the good things he had done, and of all the people he had saved, her included. It had been the directness of her words, and Octavia's, that had helped him begin to accept the decisions he had made in the past. Bellamy felt he owed her for that.

Octavia and Echo had bonded over their mutual desire to help Bellamy. Both girls were as headstrong and relentless as he was, and they easily saw through the façade he often put up in front of the members of Camp Jaha. Plus, when Lincoln wasn't around, Echo had let Octavia practice her Trigedasleng with her.

After Kane had seen Bellamy and Echo talking one night, he suggested that they join forces in leading the preparations for the winter. They did as he suggested, and began working together. Many of the Arkers and Grounders alike disapproved of exactly how much time they had ended up spending together, but no one had voiced it to their faces. For the most part, they respected Echo and adored Bellamy, and were willing to turn a blind eye to their frequent, middle of the night 'Winter Preparation Meetings'.

Bellamy loved Echo, for the kindness she had shown him and the strength she had helped him regain. He did not doubt that. What he did doubt, more and more as it seemed, was whether or not he was  _in love_ with her. Echo had never once mentioned the word, so Bellamy never brought it up. They were just two people who cared about each other, supported the other, and just happened to sleep together.

With all of that in mind, Bellamy wasn't too surprised when Echo simply nodded at his confirmation that he had gone to see Clarke that night.

Echo sat down on the bed. Picking up one of Bellamy's shirts, she began to stitch a hole, her deft fingers moving quickly. Years ago, Bellamy had seen a similar scene. His mother sewing, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she hurried to mend the clothes given to her before another 'surprise inspection'.  _She deserved better_ , Bellamy thought,  _maybe Echo does too_.

Echo spoke, her voice harsh. "Your people do not know how to keep their voices quiet. They speak too freely when they believe I am not listening." Her fingers moved hastily. "Clarke is back, and they wonder how long it will be until you leave me for her. You care for her, greatly." When she saw that he was opening his mouth to dispute her claim, she raised her voice, silencing him. "I  _know_  you do, Bellamy, so do not try to lie. They say you care for her so greatly that they believe that you will not last ten more days with me."

Bellamy fought the urge to sigh at Echo's bluntness, her tendency to get straight to the heart of the matter. It was one of the things that he both appreciated and disliked about her. Not willing to answer her accusations directly, he asked her a question instead, leaning against the wall.

"Do you believe them?"

She set down the shirt, her chin raised and her eyes searching deeply into his. "Yes, Bellamy. I believe their words. They have no reason to lie."

Before Bellamy could formulate a response, she got up and walked over to him. "Bellamy, you are a good man." When he began to scoff in disagreement at her words, she put her hand in his own, squeezing softly. "A  _good man_. You have always been loyal to me, even though I did not ask you to be. You have always been kind to me, even though my people  _and_  your people do not approve of us being together the way we have been together. You have  _always_  been a good man to me." She paused, looking to the side. "But you hold onto the past like it is the present."

"Echo…"

"I know that I can never heal you. I can never give you what you are in need of. I have tried," she sighed, her eyes sorry as she looked down at their joined hands, "I have  _tried._ "

Bellamy wanted to say that she  _had_  healed him, and that she  _was_  enough for him, but the words would not come out of his mouth. Instead, all he could say was, "Echo, I owe you my life."

She smiled dejectedly. "No, you do not owe me anything. You never did, Bellamy. _I_  am the one who owed _you_  my life," she inhaled deeply, adding, "but I fear that I will never be able to repay that debt, no matter how much I may try."

Bellamy looked at her intensely, processing her words. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. If it hadn't been for Echo, he would have suffered for much longer. Yet, deep down, Bellamy knew that he would have been able to recover without her. It would have taken a great deal of time, and probably would have driven Octavia insane, but he would have done it eventually.

"Look, in my mind, that debt was repaid when you helped me get your people out of the Mountain, alright? But _I_   _still_   _owe you_ for everything you've done for me since then," he said stubbornly.

She looked at him, her face determined and unflinching. Echo had made up her mind, and there would be no changing it, Bellamy knew. He rubbed his eyes, thinking about how he should be convincing her to stay instead of asking, "Where are you gonna go?"

She didn't hesitate. "I will stay here until the winter passes. Then, I will take my people home." Determination blazed in her eyes.

As Bellamy struggled to find the right words to say, Echo leaned up and kissed him. It was a careful, slow kiss that tasted like remorse and heartache, an apology and a thank you all in one.

Pulling away, Echo left Bellamy standing alone in the tent. He sighed, sitting down on the bed. Echo was a warrior, whose intuition was sharper than the weapons she wielded. She had seen how the battle would end, and left unscathed. Bellamy was still standing in the middle of it, unarmed and directly in the line of fire.

 _You hold onto the past like it is the present,_  she had told him.

To him, the past was a collection of images permanently etched into his mind. It was Octavia's face when she realized she had been discovered, an empty room filled with memories of his dead mother and imprisoned sister, blood seeping from Jaha's stomach, Charlotte plunging into nothingness, a noose, the decontamination room, a little boy with a backpack, Maya's scorched skin.

It was a blonde haired girl, whose scars were so deep they did not show, walking away from him into the forest.

* * *

It had been a week and one day since Clarke had returned to Camp Jaha.

Monty, Harper, Monroe, Miller, and Raven, as well as some of the rest of the 48, had been keeping her company as she regained her strength. Even Kane had come by to see how she was doing. Seeing their faces had been bittersweet, bringing back the memories of Mount Weather that were still fresh in her mind. Yet, as they celebrated her return and laughed and talked together, she felt the torn edges of her soul start to soften slightly.

She hadn't seen Bellamy, not since two nights ago when he had appeared in the medbay like an answer to an unspoken prayer. As she replayed their reunion again and again in her mind, she decided that she was glad that she didn't have to deal with seeing him again just yet.

Those who visited her eagerly filled her in on what she had missed during her absence.

Not much had changed, really. Her mother was still the Chancellor, working alongside Kane and a few other members of a new Council. Apparently, when Clarke left, Bellamy had been recognized as the leader that he was, and Kane placed Bellamy in a position of power over the Guard, where he taught them how to deal with the various threats they might (and probably would) encounter on the ground. Bellamy had thrived under his newly appointed responsibility. Despite what sounded like a continuous struggle with inner demons, he had taken good care of the 48. They talked about Bellamy like he was one of the heroes in the myths that he often spoke of. Clarke was not surprised.

At first, no grounders (besides Lincoln) had been allowed to stay at Camp Jaha. However, it soon came to the Council's attention that several of the grounders who had not abandoned the Sky People during the fight against Mount Weather were in need of medical attention. Most were from the Ice Nation, like Echo. In exchange for medical help and temporary shelter, they agreed to help the Sky People prepare for and survive the upcoming winter. It had proved to be a beneficial, mutual alliance for the time being.

Echo had led the negotiation, and Bellamy had supported the woman he had met inside the Mountain, which was a large factor in the acceptance of the truce. The Council put Bellamy and Echo in charge of preparing the Camp for the rapidly approaching winter. When Clarke nonchalantly asked how the two of them got along, Monroe had laughed and said, "Oh, they get along well enough,  _if you know what I mean_. They're together, like, all the time, even when they're not bossing people around. Seems like an attraction to Grounders runs in the family." Clarke decided that was all she wanted to know, and quickly changed the subject.

At dinner, Raven had come by, bringing Clarke some soup, along with some drawing supplies that had come down with the Ark. The simple gesture made Clarke's eyes fill with tears. It was a message, a simple statement disguised as a small, leather bound journal and a pencil. It said, _I'm glad you're home._

Clarke was about to thank her when Raven held out a clenched fist, slowly uncurling it. On her palm lay a small, familiar object.

A two headed deer, made of metal.

Looking from Raven to the necklace wordlessly, Clarke gingerly took it from her outstretched palm. This message was bold, written in all capital letters, and absolute.

_I don't hate you for what you did to Finn._

Clarke sobbed. Chest heaving, shoulders shaking, nose running, she cried. Raven, whose own face was not free of tears, held her. For the first time since the night Clarke had killed Finn, she let herself truly grieve his death.

That night, long after Raven had gone, Clarke picked up the pencil and journal. Turning to the first page, she began sketching. She drew a meadow, one that was overflowing with flowers. Finn, with his long hair and a peaceful expression on his face, was placing a flower into a girl's hair. The girl had her signature smirk on her face, her hair drawn up into a ponytail, a metal raven hanging around her neck. Tearing the page out of the journal carefully, she folded it in half, scribbled something on top, and placed it to the side of her bed.

_For Raven._

She gripped the pencil in her hand, poking the worn down eraser against her chin. Clarke thought for a few minutes before bringing the pencil down to the next page. She drew a boy with a curly mess of dark hair, a sober demeanor, and contemplative, steadfast eyes. He was slouched over, the world resting on his shoulders being held by powerful arms. Clarke didn't know how long she stared at her depiction of Bellamy,  _the titan who carried the world on his back_ , before she finally shut the journal, succumbing to her emotional exhaustion.

As she steadily slipped into sleep, a murmured prayer left her lips, asking for him to come see her again.


	6. Masks

The nightmares had mostly gone. Mostly was not nearly close to completely, though, and Bellamy woke with a start. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he put his head in his hands.

_O is alive._

Letting out steadying breaths, he repeated the phrase like a mantra until the images of Octavia being drained of blood began to fade.

Desperate to focus on anything but his nightmare, he turned his thoughts to Clarke. Deep down, he was dying to go see her, to clear things up between them. He told himself that today would be the day he would walk into the medbay and talk to her. If he told her what had happened after she left, maybe it would be enough to make her understand why it had taken him so long to do exactly that. Memories of the past few months kept flying at him left and right, and he still wasn't sure what he would say. It didn't matter. All he really did know was that he  _needed_  to see her. Today, after breakfast, he would.

Walking to the designated mess hall, Bellamy ran into Lincoln.

"Lincoln." Bellamy nodded the greeting. "Where's O?"

"Where do you think," Lincoln stated dryly, tilting his head. "She went hunting again."

Bellamy sighed. "I  _told_  her that we have enough deer meat as it is."

"She does not believe so." Lincoln's mouth quirked up slightly.

"I know. She tells me every chance she gets," he replied.

After their rather rough beginning, Bellamy and Lincoln had become close. It wasn't rare for them to go hunting or scouting together, and Lincoln had even taught Bellamy some Trigedasleng. Octavia and Echo were shocked into speechlessness the time Bellamy told them that he knew they were talking about him in the language they thought he couldn't understand.

"Echo is waiting for you in there," Lincoln gestured to the mess hall and smirked, "and she is anxious to see you. I would have told you myself of the news, but she would not let me." He shook his head, grinning, and slapped Bellamy approvingly on the back before leaving.

Bellamy's eyebrows furrowed slightly at Lincoln's actions. Had Echo not told him about what had happened between them? To be honest, Bellamy was relieved. They were still in charge of prepping the camp for winter, and they definitely did not need unnecessary drama hindering their work. He hadn't told anyone for precisely that reason.

Sitting down with a half-bitten apple in one hand, Echo was deep in thought as she examined a piece of paper.

"Hey," he said, a little awkwardly as he sat across from her. Not knowing where their relationship stood, he grunted, "Lincoln told me you had something to tell me."

"Bellamy! I have been waiting for you!" She said excitedly, before looking up at his face and frowning. "Another nightmare?" She glanced at him knowingly.

Looking away, he nodded. If anyone else had asked him, he would have lied, but after months of waking up together, Echo could read the signs on his face as easily as she read the signs on the Earth around her.

"This will help." She handed him the piece of paper she had been holding, fidgeting with anticipation.

He smiled slightly at her desire to relieve his bad mood. First and foremost, Bellamy and Echo were friends, friends that cared about each other and supported each other. That wouldn't change just because they were no longer romantically involved. He felt some of his stress drain away as that fact became clear. Looking at the drawing, he realized it was one of Lincoln's.

"No way…he found it?" he said, surprised.

Echo grinned proudly. "He found it."

It was a sketch of an underground bunker that Lincoln had come across many years ago, but had never explored and never returned to again, until Bellamy suggested they search any underground bunkers in the area for supplies. Lincoln finally found it, after weeks of searching.

"Did he go inside?" Bellamy asked anxiously.

Echo's eyes brightened. "He found blankets, candles," she leaned towards him, eyebrow cocked mischievously, " _guns._ "

Shaking his head, Bellamy felt himself grinning right back at her. Delivering this news to him was her way of making things right between them.

"Guns," he repeated, almost blissfully, before returning to business. "When do we leave?"

* * *

Clarke tapped her fingers impatiently against her skin as she stood. Bellamy hadn't come to see her again, and it was slowly driving her crazy. Questions ran through her mind endlessly as she wondered exactly why he hadn't come. Whenever she asked someone about where he was, they would say, ' _He's busy',_ without ever meeting her eyes. Clarke never believed them.

If her mother said she was okay to leave the medbay today, she was going to go see him. She would demand to know what was so important that he prevented him from coming to see her. After everything they had been through, Clarke had thought that he, of all people, would have been one of the ones to visit her every day. But he hadn't, and she didn't know why. When he had come into her room in the middle of the night, something was different. It wasn't the fact that Clarke had touched his face like he was a dream she couldn't believe was real either. She saw it deep within his eyes. There was a pain in them, a hurt so deep it caused him to only ask her one question, and then leave. Clarke  _needed_  to see him. Today.

"So?" Clarke prompted impatiently. "Am I okay to leave?"

Abby's eyes were clinically examining her to determine if she had recovered sufficiently. After an agonizingly long time, her mother's mouth twisted to the side. "As long as you're up to it, then—"

Her sentence was cut off as Clarke enveloped her in a tight hug. "Thank you, mom."

Overcome with emotion, Abby's voice was thick as she replied, "Thank you for coming home, Clarke." She sighed, pulling away. "Now come on, change into the clothes I brought you. You can meet me outside when you're done."

After having slept under the stars, surrounded by fresh air and the sound of a crackling fire, the medbay was beginning to make her feel unbearably claustrophobic. Now that her mother had  _finally_  cleared her to leave, Clarke was free to walk, run, and see people. Pausing in the middle of pulling on her long sleeved shirt, Clarke took a deep breath. Out there, she could run into anyone, anyone meaning those who weren't exactly excited to have her back. Suddenly, the medbay seemed more like a fortress, one that protected her from all harm.

She finished dressing, and whispered, "It's just breakfast. You can do breakfast, Clarke."

Taking one last deep breath, she walked outside. Most of her nervousness melted away as the cool air hit her skin like a comforting caress. She breathed in the crispness of it all, wrapping her arms around herself. The corners of Abby's eyes crinkled as she smiled at the sight of her now-healthy daughter. All around, tents spotted the land. It was clear which ones belonged to the grounders, and which ones belonged to the 48. Abby described various developments currently in progress as they walked, but Clarke wasn't really listening. She was wondering which tents belonged to her friends. Which tent belonged to Bellamy.

At the mess hall, Clarke was greeted by a few people she recognized and a few she didn't. Those she didn't know bombarded her aggressively. As they told her how strong she was, how grateful they were for what she did, and how  _honored_  they were to have a legend in their presence, Clarke felt like throwing up the breakfast she hadn't even eaten yet.

Noticing Clarke's discomfort, Abby's voice turned authoritative, and she, in polite terms, told them to get lost.

In one corner, Monty was fiddling with something electronic. Clarke noticed that his hair had gotten even longer, spilling into his face as he worked. Looking up, he waved and smiled crookedly before returning to the device in his hands. Raven and Wick sat arguing heatedly, both too focused on a discussion about something Clarke couldn't even begin to understand to notice her. Bellamy, and a grounder who could have only been Echo, were laughing off to the side.

_Bellamy and Echo. Laughing. Bellamy. Laughing. With Echo. Laughing._

Stopping so abruptly that Abby nearly crashed into her, Clarke stood, mouth agape. She watched as Echo put a hand on Bellamy's bicep, both trembling with laughter. She had never seen Bellamy really truly laugh during the entire time she had known him. He had a good, genuine laugh. It was the kind of laugh that made the sides of your mouth raise without you even realizing it. Something deep inside of Clarke twisted uncomfortably with regret.  _Why didn't I ever hear him laugh like that? I never made him laugh like that._  Another thought, this one much nastier, entered her mind.  _Is this what he's been so busy with all this time? Laughing with her?_

The laughing stopped when Bellamy's eyes met hers. Clarke gave a half-hearted wave, which he didn't return as he stared at her. Smile completely gone, Echo turned to see what had caused the sudden change in his demeanor. Squeezing his arm, Echo leaned towards him, and whispered into his ear.

Jaw clenching, Bellamy immediately shook his head. He stood, handing Echo a piece of paper, and turned to leave the mess hall.

Before she knew it, Clarke found herself marching up to him, grabbing his forearm and swinging him around.

"What the  _hell_  is your problem, Bellamy?!" She seethed, frustrated that he hadn't come see her again, angry that he was laughing with Echo, and livid that he couldn't even be in the same place as her for more than five minutes.

" _My_ problem?" He returned incredulously.

Every head in the cafeteria turned to see the confrontation they had been waiting months for. More than a few Arkers put various counting rocks on the tables in front of them, ready to win any bets they had placed on how the exchange between the previously close co-leaders would go.

Clarke raised her chin to meet his eyes.

"Yeah,  _your_  problem. I've seen you, what, twice since I got back?  _Wick_  has come to see me more times than that."

Wick, having just taken a bite of his jerky, choked.

Clarke ignored it. "Everyone else can't seem to leave me alone. Except for you. Where have you been? Busy? Because you don't look 'busy' to me. You haven't even come to ask me how I'm doing or where I was this whole time or if I missed—"

He scoffed, cutting her off. "Sorry, Princess, but last time I checked, my world doesn't revolve around you."

Neither of them heard Raven snort.

 _Princess._  The last time he had called her that was lifetimes ago, and it had never been a term of endearment. Plus, Finn had been the first one to call her that. She felt her irritation double, and decided that two could play at that game.

"You infuriating, selfish, arrogant,  _jackass_!" Each term was punctuated as she shoved her finger into his chest.

Bellamy was taken aback, and for a second, Clarke felt slightly satisfied.

Once his voice started trembling, however, her smug expression disappeared.

"I  _stayed,_ " he breathed shakily, voice increasing in volume. "I took  _care_  of them. You think there weren't days when all I could think of was walking out that gate and never looking back? But I didn't.  _I stayed._ And if that makes me an infuriating, selfish, arrogant jackass, then that's what I am."

"Bellamy…" Clarke started, her anger long gone.

"No." He looked around, noticing the bystanders who weren't even being subtle about their eavesdropping. "We're not doing this here," he stated definitively.

The leader in him, the one who had kept on a fairly believable mask of courage on during the past few months, didn't want his people to see what was underneath. He  _couldn't_  let his people, those who looked to him for stability and strength, see what was underneath. With every word he spoke to Clarke, though, the mask was chipping, cracking rapidly.

"Fine," Clarke said, motioning before them. "Lead the way."

Glancing over her shoulder, she made brief eye contact with her mother, who just nodded. Clarke followed Bellamy silently as they made their way to the medbay. His hands were shoved into his jacket, and she didn't doubt that they were curled into fists. As she walked into the room that had become a safe haven to her, Clarke began to feel more and more defensive. Bellamy had indirectly accused her of being selfish because she hadn't stayed.

Once inside, it wasn't Bellamy's mask that fractured, but Clarke's.

"Bellamy, you  _know_  why I had to leave! Seeing them—"

"—would only remind you of your own pain. I  _know_ ," he interrupted, annoyed. "See, Clarke, that's your problem. You're always so wrapped up in your own pain and your own problems that you don't even realize that you aren't the only one suffering!"

She bristled. "That is not true and you know it.  _Everything_  I have done has been for them."  _And for you,_  she added mentally, TonDC coming to her mind. "Is that why you can't even come talk to me? Because you think I'm self-centered?" She accused.

Scoffing, he paced. "You want to know why I haven't come to see you? Why I haven't asked you how you're feeling? Why I wasn't there when you woke up?!"

Seeing the distressed look on his face, Clarke found herself no longer wanting to know why.

"Because  _every time_  I look at you, all I can think about is how you weren't here. They asked me, Clarke, every damn day, when you were coming back. I couldn't answer them because I didn't know where you were or what you were doing or  _if you were even still alive!_ "

He stepped towards Clarke until her back met the wall. Everything he had bottled up over the past few months was pouring out of him, the bitter drops seeping into her heart and spilling messily into her conscience as he spoke. Transfixed by the raw emotion in his words, by the completely exposed vulnerability he was displaying, she inhaled sharply. Having no reply, she resorted to defending herself again.

"The night you came into my room," Clarke said roughly, her chin raised, "you saw  _exactly_  why I couldn't stay. Every time I close my eyes—"

Bellamy shook his head. "You think you're the only one with nightmares, Clarke?  _Harper_ —" voice breaking, his face was overshadowed with grief. Exhaling, he started again, moving closer to her. "While you were off doing who knows what, who knows where, I was here. I was making sure Jasper didn't kill Monty or helping Monroe get through her panic attacks or doing  _whatever the hell you couldn't do_  because  _you_ _weren't here_."

His face was inches from her own. She breathed him in, her lungs filling with the comforting smell of woody smoke, and Clarke felt safe. For the first time in months, despite everything he was saying, she felt safe. Brown eyes poured into blue, and they looked at each other like all of the anguish, torment, and distress they each had felt separately could be healed just by looking at each other. His eyes flickered to her lips, and she forgot how to breathe.

"They needed you, Clarke." He looked away, his voice hoarse when he added, " _I_  needed—"

When he didn't finish his sentence, Clarke gently placed a hand on his cheek, tilting his face back up to look at her.

"What, Bellamy?" She breathed.

For the slightest of moments, Clarke could have sworn he leaned into her touch. It only lasted for a fraction of a second, however, before he flinched away from her, taking a step back. She physically felt her heart drop.

"Don't," he said softly, pleadingly. " _Please_  don't."

Clarke's eyebrows knit together at the term. Please was not a word he used frequently, and when he said it, he meant it. He meant it wholeheartedly, truthfully, and completely. Reluctantly, she dropped her hand.

"I'm sorry Bellamy." The apology came not from Clarke, but from Echo, who appeared at the door, looking incredibly uneasy. Clarke tried to inconspicuously wipe the tears off of her face. If Echo noticed, she didn't say anything. "Kane needs to see you."

When Bellamy didn't move, Echo added softly, "He needs you now, Bellamy."

Just like that, Bellamy put his heroic mask back on, neatly tying together all of the frayed and twisted ends. Nodding hesitantly, he made his way to the door, glancing at Clarke and muttering, "Forget it, Clarke. Just forget it."

Clarke couldn't help herself from noticing how he didn't flinch when Echo had put a hand comfortingly on his back as they walked out of the medbay.

Once she was sure they were gone, she slid down the wall. She drew her knees to her chest.  _It all makes sense now,_  she thought. Of course Octavia would have seen everything Bellamy sacrificed, everything he did for their people while she was gone. No wonder seeing her return had set Octavia off. Bellamy being so hesitant to come see her made sense. Clarke had just expected him to never leave her side once she had returned, just like before. How could she have expected that, when she had left his side? He had spent all of these months watching over the 48 day and night. Alone. They had been suffering during her absence, too, and Clarke's heart ached as she thought of her friends. They were surviving, were thriving, because of everything Bellamy had done for them. And Clarke had called him an infuriating, selfish, arrogant jackass. She knew he understood why she had left, but at the same time, he just told her exactly why she should have stayed. And now, more than ever, she wished she had.

Letting out a frustrated cry as every word he said processed in her mind, she put her head in her hands. Eventually, only one phrase remained, floating to the top. One phrase stood, towering over the rest.

" _Please_  come inside".

He had meant it. With every fiber of his being and every portion of his soul, he had meant it.


	7. "She doesn't need to know."

"You wanted to see me?" Bellamy asked, trying to keep the annoyance he felt out of his tone. Whatever Kane needed him for, it'd better be worth it. The conversation with Clarke had only served to further complicate things between them, which was the exact opposite of what Bellamy had wanted. He hadn't meant to say all of the things he said, but being there, being  _so_  damn close to her after having spent  _so_ much time apart from her had only heightened his emotions, negative and positive.

"Yes, I heard you found the bunker?" Kane stood from his desk and walked towards him.

Bellamy shook his head. "Not me. Lincoln."

A slight smile appeared on Kane's face as he noticed the distinction. "Right, of course. Echo informed me that Lincoln found supplies, like we hoped."

"Yeah, Echo and I are planning—"

"Echo will not be going with you."

Threading his hands behind his back, Bellamy kept his voice even. "What? Why not?"

Did Kane know about what had happened between them? He readied himself to argue that they could still work together and do everything they had done before, without problems. Their friendship was still strong, and that was all that really mattered.

" _Three_  of our people have suffered frostbite in the past week alone. I fear that this is only the beginning as the days get even colder. I need Echo and Lincoln here to teach the camp how to avoid frostbite and how to treat it before Abby has to start amputating toes."

Bellamy shifted his weight. "So I'm going alone then."

Eyes narrowed, Kane tilted his head. "Not exactly. Clarke will be going as well."

Previously an immaculate image of an ideal member of the guard, Bellamy's stance relaxed as he disrespectfully disagreed. "No. No way."

Kane raised an eyebrow. "The two of you  _will_ go together. This isn't up for discussion, son."

"Like hell it isn't," he retorted. The annoyance he had been hiding earlier was replaced with blatant bitterness. "There is no  _together_  when it comes to me and Clarke."

Sighing, Kane placed a hand on Bellamy's shoulder. "Listen to me, son. Abby is worried that Clarke is thinking of leaving again. Some of the people…they don't understand the significance of the sacrifices you two have made for their children, or the trauma you have all suffered. Many try to tell her how proud they are of her for making the decisions that she made. They mean well, but it is making it difficult for her to readjust. She is trying to move on, but the people aren't allowing her to when they insist on reminding her every time they see her that she is a legend because of her actions." He paused. "Abby believes that if Clarke can leave camp for a few days, and focus her thoughts on this project, she will be one step closer to being Clarke again."

After a few moments of quiet contemplation, Bellamy asked, "Why can't you send someone else to go with her?"

"You are the only one Abby trusts to protect her daughter," Kane answered like it was common knowledge.

There was no fighting this, Bellamy realized as he took a deep breath. It had been decided before he even walked into the room.

"Fine," he stated, but before Kane could reply, he added, "This couldn't have waited till later?"

"I suppose it could have, but Abby wanted me to tell you as soon as possible. One other thing, Clarke can't know that Abby has suggested this, or she might wrongly think that Abby doesn't want her here. Understand?"

An affirmative nod was given.

Kane tightened his grip on Bellamy's shoulder for a moment. "I went to see her—Clarke—when she returned. She asked me about  _you_."

His curiosity was piqued, but he stayed stubbornly silent.

"She wanted to know about the duties I gave you and about how you were doing…" Kane trailed off for a moment. "And then she asked me if you ever went looking for her."

Bellamy held his breath.

Looking soberly at him, Kane finally said, "I told her that I didn't know."

The breath he was holding escaped due to the pure relief he felt. "Thank you."

"Will you tell her?" Kane asked tactfully.

"No. She doesn't need to know."

Releasing his grip from Bellamy's shoulder, Kane sighed, expressing exactly how he felt about that statement.

"Well, she does need to know about this assignment. You're dismissed to go and tell her."

Walking back out into the Camp, Bellamy let out another sigh of relief. Despite the new assignment, his mind was at ease. He felt indebted to Kane and his discretion.

_She doesn't need to know that there were days where I yelled her name into the forest until my voice was gone._

* * *

Clarke didn't know how long she stayed in the medbay, sitting with her head in her hands and her back against the wall. Relentlessly, her stomach grumbled, but she hadn't even looked at the food her mother had delicately set beside her sometime that morning. Food was the last thing on her mind.

All she could think about was Bellamy. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. She saw him standing in front of the tired, dirty 48, his voice confident as he assured them that they were safe, that they were going to be okay. She saw him walking around Camp Jaha, gun slung around his shoulder as he made sure everyone had enough supplies to build their tents. She saw him jolting awake in the middle of the night at the sound of Harper's screams, rushing to her tent and calming her down by telling her about Artemis, the Greek goddess of the hunt and the protector of young girls.

The entire time that Clarke had been walking alongside rivers and trying to heal herself, Bellamy had been walking alongside their people, trying to heal them, and forgetting to heal himself.

At some point, a deep voice rumbled her name, and she looked up.

"Clarke."

It was Bellamy, leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed. Her forehead was immediately reacquainted with her forearm. Ashamed and angry and not daring to look at him, she closed her eyes while he spoke. "While you were gone—"

"I know, okay? I get it. While I was gone you—"

"Dammit Clarke, let me finish!" He exhaled tiredly and started again. "While you were gone, Lincoln found another underground bunker."

 _Oh_. Clarke raised her head ever-so-slightly. She chanced a glance at him, only to find that he was deeply concentrated on tracing a groove in the wall with his finger.

"Was there anything inside it?" She asked, trying not to sound as interested as she was.

"Yeah. But your mom only wanted Lincoln to confirm its existence. She needs someone to go back and take inventory of the supplies before we start hauling anything out of there, though, and Lincoln can't go."

It made sense, the rational leader in her thought. By taking an inventory of all of the supplies, it would be easier to determine how to split the supplies among the people as well as make sure no one was taking more than their fair share. A few questions did enter her mind, though.

"What does this have to do with me? I never came across any underground bunkers when I was gone. Well besides—" Besides the bunker she had found with Finn. A few weeks into her exodus, she returned to it, desperate for shelter and protection during a severe thunderstorm. When she had opened the hatch, the smell of rotting corpse floated up to her, the odor so strong she had almost passed out. Clarke never went back, distressed that all of her memories of Finn were now tainted with death.

Bellamy didn't prod her to finish her thought. "Kane wants you to go to the bunker and catalogue the items. He'll make a list of top priority supplies that the Camp needs. If you find anything on that list, you'll bring it back here."

"He wants me to go. Alone." Clarke was so baffled she almost laughed. "No. No way." If she left, there was a big chance that she might not come back.

"You won't be alone." Bellamy straightened his back, still incredibly focused on the crevice in the wall.

"What? But I thought you said Lincoln couldn't go?"

"He can't. I'm going with you." Bellamy cleared his throat and quickly added, "Kane said it's not up for discussion."

Clarke ignored the resigned way that he said it, as if he had fought determinedly against the assignment and lost.

"Oh. So Kane set this up?"

A nod.

She drew in a breath. "When do we leave?"

"Two days. So make sure—"

"I'll be ready," she answered, a little too quickly, staring down at her knees. Sometimes, being back in Camp Jaha felt like she was being smothered by her past. There were some camp members who wouldn't let her forget how  _thankful_  they were for everything she did. Their words made her want to walk back into the forest. Leaving for a few days sounded like music to her ears, despite the looming fact that Bellamy would be with her.

When she looked up again, he was gone.


	8. Together

After the sun went down, Clarke set out for Bellamy's tent, using darkness as her disguise. They were going to the bunker, just the two of them, and they needed to fix things between them  _now_ or it would be a long, tense few days if they didn't. Lincoln had come by the medbay that afternoon to give her a map that showed where the underground bunker was, and to see how she was doing. It was only the second time he had visited her, and Clarke knew it was because his time was heavily occupied by Octavia, scouting missions, and other assignments. After Clarke admitted that she wasn't sure where she could find Bellamy if she had questions, he also gave her a map that showed where Bellamy's tent was in relation to the medbay.

Clarke kept her head down as she walked through the Camp. Fires were set up, spotting the land as people huddled around them. Some were laughing together, joking as they threw sticks into the fire. Others, including a few of the 48 that Clarke recognized, just sat quietly, staring blankly into the flames.

She was only a few tents away from her destination when she crossed paths with Jasper.

"Jasper!" She said nervously, unsure of his feelings for her. Because of what she did, the girl he loved died in his arms. Clarke knew what it was like to lose someone you love, and she knew how hard it was to forgive the person responsible for their death. There were plenty of people from her past that she struggled to forgive in that regard.

In all of her time on the ground, Clarke had never thought of Jasper, with his goggles and dorky attitude, as intimidating. Now, standing before her with a look on his face colder than the air around her, Clarke thought the word was disturbingly fitting.

He stepped towards her, finger pointing accusingly. "How  _dare_  you come back," he started, his voice steadily increasing in intensity. "How  _dare_  you!"

"Jasper, I—"

"No, you don't get to talk, Clarke. Not after what you did." His hands were curled into shaky fists.

Familiar images of blistered, radiated bodies entered her mind. They threatened to envelope her, swallow her whole, and her heart beat violently in her chest.

"I had no choice," she said, with great effort.

" _Bullshit,_  Clarke. You could have found another way!" He stepped closer to her. "You and I both know you could have found another way!"

Caught up in their argument, they didn't noticed that their shouting had attracted a small crowd.

Jasper's voice turned poisonous. "You shouldn't have come back, Clarke."

Knees locked in place, Clarke felt bile searing its way up her throat. "Jasper, I did what I had to do to keep everyone alive."

The words came out mechanically, flatly. It was the same phrase she repeated every time she thought about Mount Weather, about Finn, about every decision she had ever made since landing on the ground.

"Keep everyone alive?!" Jasper echoed, enraged. "Not everyone is alive, though!  _She's_  dead! And it's because of  _you!_ " He lunged forward, his rage guiding his actions.

Eyes wide, Clarke waited for him to crash into her. For a brief second, she agreed with the callous voice in her head that told her,  _you deserve it_. The moment never came, however, when a blur of blue flashed between her and Jasper. Bellamy had grabbed Jasper by the shoulders and shoved him backwards forcefully.

"Hey!  _Hey!"_  He bellowed, roughly pushing him back. " _Back off."_

It wasn't a suggestion.

Straightening his shirt apprehensively, Jasper let out a humorless laugh. "I can't believe this! You're still defending her?! After everything she did?!"

Bellamy responded with a straight-faced glare.

"After she killed them?! After she left?!"

At that, Bellamy snapped. Grabbing Jasper's shirt, he yanked him up to his eye level.

"Leave her out of this," Bellamy threatened fiercely. "Don't forget that  _I_ pulled that lever too."

Jasper swallowed, but kept his chin high. Clarke bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

Bellamy's voice went dangerously low, darkness coating each word he spoke. "Look, I know you're angry, but guess what,  _we all are_ ," he stressed. "Maya didn't have to die.  _Fox_  didn't have to die." The emotion in his voice amplified. "Most of the people in that  _damn_ Mountain _didn't have to die_." Eyebrows raised, he added, "And you know what? You're right. We could have found another way. There was probably another choice, a better choice. But it doesn't matter because in the end  _I made the choice I made_. And if you  _still_  can't accept that, then go ahead. Take it out on me."

Sniffing, Jasper furiously retaliated. "Fine. I will. It's not like you haven't heard it all before." He pushed Bellamy off of him. "You're a  _murderer_ , Bellamy. A  _killer_  who—" Angry tears threatened to spill from Jasper's eyes. "—w _ho doesn't deserve to live_."

Bellamy stiffened noticeably at Jasper's words. The words that would have been aimed directly at her, but weren't only because Bellamy stepped in for her. Clarke inhaled sharply. She understood. She  _finally_ understood.

She understood what Bellamy had meant when he put his hand on hers and said  _together_.

"Jasper,  _enough._ " It was Harper, who had been standing with the crowd. "Enough."

Jasper shook his head at the two of them, muttering something under his breath as he stalked away. The group of onlookers exchanged troubled looks before returning awkwardly to their fires, leaving Bellamy and Clarke standing alone.

Running a hand over his face and breathing slowly, Bellamy collected himself before looking over his shoulder at her.

Gently, quietly, he asked, "Are you alright?"

Her voice cracked as she replied, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

Nodding automatically, Bellamy started to walk away, his hands clenching and unclenching.

Despite everything Bellamy had told her that morning, after he had explained to her  _exactly_  how he felt about her coming back and why, he had just protected her,  _defended_  her. Shielding her from physical and emotional harm, he had stood quietly as one of his  _friends_  told him that he didn't deserve to live. If Jasper's words were true, then it hadn't been the first time Bellamy had listened to accusations like that either. Clarke felt her throat tightening.

Octavia's words came flying back to her.  _He told me that you two pulled that lever together. And then you left him._  How many times had Bellamy been forced to stand alone with his sins? How many times had he been called a murderer? A monster? How many times had he carried the guilt of pulling that lever  _alone_  because the other person who pulled it with him wasn't there to share the burden?

_Hey, we'll get through this._

_Together._

And she had left him, alone.

"Bellamy!" She called after him, voice strangled.

He stopped, turning slightly towards her but not fully facing her.

" _I left you_." It was a shocked confession, a surprised whisper. "You said together…and I— _I left you._ "

Looking at her, his eyes seemed to search deep within her soul, holding a pain within them that broke Clarke's heart even more than it already was. But when he spoke, there was no emotion in his voice to match the words spoken by his eyes. In fact, there was no emotion at all.

"You did what you had to do, Clarke. You always do."

He walked away from her and didn't look back.

* * *

Bellamy couldn't even process what Clarke had confessed to him as he walked away from her, Jasper's words still ringing loudly in his ears.

He knew Jasper hadn't meant what he said, not really. He was just a kid, one who was too young and had gone through too much and didn't think before he spoke. And when Jasper saw Clarke, all of the feelings that had long simmered deep underneath the surface exploded to the top, something Bellamy understood all too well.

Tomorrow, Jasper would probably find him, apologize gawkily, and offer to take his night shift assignments for the week as a way to make it up to him. The past few months had been hard for everyone, and that included Jasper. The reason Jasper took night shifts in the first place was because he couldn't sleep for more than three hours at a time, and so whenever he offered to take a few shifts after an argument, Bellamy let him. The young delinquent  _had_  been getting better at accepting what had happened in Mount Weather, and Bellamy even saw him sitting with Monty at lunch a few times. Like every single one of the survivors, though, he had his moments when the pain was too great to bear silently. Unfortunately, that often resulted in Bellamy not having to take a night shift for weeks at a time.

At first, Bellamy had defended himself stubbornly when anyone—not just Jasper—accused him of 'taking the easy way out' in Mount Weather by irradiating everyone. As the weeks went on, however, Bellamy stopped arguing with any criticizers, and for a long time, he didn't understand why. Then, he realized that he found himself agreeing with their words. He found himself believing their accusations.

Doubts gnawed at him for weeks. Could there have been another way? Had they overlooked another choice, one where the people who had done nothing wrong could have lived? One where  _only_  those who deserved to die, died?

Maya didn't deserve to die. She didn't. Her family didn't deserve to die. The children didn't deserve to die. Many of their families didn't deserve to die.

Whether he meant it or not didn't matter, Jasper was right. Bellamy didn't deserve to live, not after he had killed hundreds of innocent people. He didn't. Mount Weather, the 300 who were needlessly sacrificed in the Ark…all dead because of the actions he took.  _Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds_ of people whose lives who had been mercilessly ended  _because of him_.

Somehow, he found himself walking into Echo's tent.

Kneeling on the floor, she was busy sharpening her weapon. Looking up and seeing the look on his face, the blade clattered to the ground as she stood. Echo hesitated to reach out to him, unsure of the newly placed limits that came with their newly reappointed friendship. Bellamy pulled her into a tight hug, signaling to her that at this moment, there were no boundaries.

"Jasper?" She asked, even though she already knew the answer. Echo pulled away to look at him.

"I've killed… _so_   _many_ people…" He said looking at her, but his eyes where somewhere far away.

"Bellamy…" She pleaded, not wanting him to go down this familiar road.

"Jasper's right. He's  _always_  been right." He said, blinking back tears that he only ever let Echo see. "I don't deserve to—"

"Shh…" she whispered, not allowing him to finish the sentence the way she knew he would. "Shh…" With an urgency that displayed how badly she wished she could stop those thoughts from ever entering his head again, she kissed him. He kissed her back, listening to the persuasive voice that demanded distraction and alleviation instead of the sensible one that reminded him that they were supposed to be friends and friends only.  _This is the last time..._ the sensible voice vowed just before it was silenced.

Picking her up, he carried her effortlessly to her bed. There was a tangling of limbs, coupled with shallow breaths and desperate touches as Echo foolishly tried to make him whole, and Bellamy foolishly let her try. It would never be enough, they both knew that. But for tonight,  _one last night_ , they could get lost in each other, replacing pain with pleasure, disgrace with desire, and shame with satisfaction.

The next morning, as Bellamy began dressing, Echo studied him seriously.

"Bellamy, I will always be here for you," she said, running a hand through her tangled hair. "But you and I both know that I will never be who you need."

"And who do I need?" He asked roughly.

* * *

"And who do I need?" Bellamy's voice came from a tent to her left.

That morning, Clarke had been searching  _everywhere_  for him. She wanted to find him, to tell him that she understood what he had done when he pulled that lever with her. When he wasn't in his tent, however, she had walked frantically through the Camp, trying to figure out where he was. She didn't know whose tent his voice was now coming from, but she didn't care. Bursting in, Clarke nearly ran straight into Bellamy's bare chest. Her overworked mind rapidly connected the dots between the discarded clothing on the floor, Echo in the bed, and a shirtless Bellamy.

A familiar feeling surged in her heart, the same one she felt when she had seen Bellamy laughing with Echo the day before.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Echo."

"Clarke of the Sky People," Echo replied respectfully, as if they were at some sort of formal meeting instead of in her tent.

Turning her attention back to Bellamy, Clarke asked through grit teeth, "I need to talk to you.  _Alone._ "

He finished dressing, glanced at Echo, and followed her outside.

"So…you and Echo?" Clarke asked as neutrally as she could, still not able to make eye contact with him.

"It's complicated," he answered, not meeting her eyes either.

"It always is with you," she muttered before adopting a warmer tone. "Look, I just wanted to thank you for what you did…"  _For pulling the lever with me, for protecting me, for always being someone I can count on… "_ You know, last night, with Jasper," she finished weakly, thoughts of Bellamy being with Echo clouding her vision.

"Just give him a few days, he'll come around." He put his jacket on, breath visible in the chilly morning air.

Clarke scoffed. "I think it'll take more than  _a few days_. It took  _you_  more than a few days, and even now we're…" she trailed off, waving a hand between them, not knowing how to finish the sentence in a way that could accurately describe their current situation.

"We'll get through this Clarke," he said, repeating what he had said to her outside the gate months ago.

"Will we?" She asked honestly, uncertainty in her voice.

His hesitation was a clear enough answer for her. The truth was, he didn't know. It didn't matter if they hoped they would, because they both had doubts on whether or not they ever could go back to being what they used to be. Co-leaders. Friends. Two people who trusted each other in the darkness and the light. Two people who leaned on each other, protected each other, cared about each other. It was because they meant so much to each other that they were in the position they were in.

"Clarke, I—" Bellamy started, but she shook her head, stopping him.

"I have to go pack," she said abruptly, and brushed past him.

Later in the supply tent, as she shoved water, a med kit, and a flashlight into her bag, a brief thought crossed her mind.

_I can't stay here anymore._


	9. Moonshine

Blonde hair fell into her face, obscuring her vision yet _again_. Letting out a frustrated noise, Clarke pulled her hair back into its usual style, her fingers getting caught in the tangled mess.

Her bag lay at her feet, packed. Clarke was ready to go. The whole day was spent packing and unpacking and packing and unpacking and packing and unpacking, alternating between supplies she would need for a three day trip with Bellamy, and supplies she would need for a three month trip alone. Once the sun set, and oranges and reds and purples filed through the door of the supply tent, she finally finished packing. Ultimately, her bag was filled with only enough supplies for a three day trip.

"Hey," Octavia greeted, walking through the door.

"Hey?" Clarke inquired, as if trying to confirm that Octavia was actually speaking to her and not to someone behind her, even though she was the only one in the tent.

The young not-delinquent-turned-warrior stood confidently. Although her face was devoid of paint, Octavia seemed as fierce as ever. Intricate braids were twisted into her dark brown hair, a mark of patience and precision that was matched in the look she gave Clarke.

"I need to talk to you," she said flatly.

Swallowing, Clarke nodded warily. She wasn't sure if she could take any more confrontations or verbal assaults, but after everything she and Octavia had been through together since Day 1 on the ground, Clarke couldn't deny that she badly wanted to mend their broken friendship.

Cocking her head towards the door, Octavia strode out of the supply tent. Clarke followed, leaving her bag behind. Together, they walked towards the downed Ark in silence. It wasn't until they reached the door of the Alpha Station that Octavia stopped and turned to face her.

"I heard about what happened with Jasper," she said straight-forwardly before advising, "Just give him a few days."

 _Like brother like sister,_ Clarke thought. "That's exactly what Bellamy said."

Octavia's eyebrows rose slightly at the mention of her brother, and she prompted, "So are you two good now?"

Clarke found herself looking towards the gate, not trusting herself to speak. She settled for a half-hearted headshake.

"Hey," Octavia said, urging Clarke to focus back on her. "Bell wants to fix things just as badly as you do. You two will work things out. You always do."

Giving her a weak smile, Clarke wished she could believe the girl in front of her, the girl who had changed so much over such a short period of time. Clarke's thoughts went to when she first met the Blake siblings, bright-eyed and fresh-faced and full of vitality as they hugged in the Drop Ship. Through her memories, she watched as the girl who lived a life hidden in the shadows became the first to step into the warm sunlight and soft dirt of Earth.

Clarke's memories were a palette of color, and that memory in particular rested with the most vibrant shades. She was grateful that out of all of the memories that were burned into her mind, that memory of Octavia would always be there too.

Remembering where and when she was, Clarke finally asked, "What did you need to talk to me about?"

A sly smile flashed across Octavia's face, so quickly that Clarke wondered if she had actually imagined it.

"You'll see," she teased obscurely, walking inside and beckoning for Clarke to follow.

They walked down one of the hallways of the Alpha station that had both remained intact and upright. They stopped at a door on the far left.

Octavia knocked thrice, then once, then thrice again. She stepped aside, and after a few moments, the door opened.

 _What?_ Clarke thought.

The room was pitch black, and for a second, paranoia gripped at her. Was Octavia planning on getting back at her for what happened at TonDC? Or in Mount Weather? Was Jasper waiting for her inside?

_Wait, where's Murphy?_

"Go ahead," Octavia suggested, giving her a firm but gentle push into the dark room.

Waiting for her eyes to adjust, Clarke's pulse quickened as she mentally prepared herself for the worst. Something in the darkness rustled, and Clarke mentally cursed herself for leaving her knife back in the supply tent.

Harsh florescent lights flickered on, beaming directly in her eyes, and she was bombarded with what seemed to be torn up leaves of different colors. The 48, plus some people Clarke assumed had come down with the Ark, grinned at her as they yelled enthusiastically.

" **S** **URPRISE!** **!!** "

Standing with her mouth open and her eyebrows drawn in confusion, Clarke barely registered Octavia nudging her and whispering, " _Happy Birthday Clarke."_

Dazed, Clarke stuttered, " _Birthday?!_ B-but my birthday was months ago..."

Raven, who stood a few feet away and was now tossing the leaf 'confetti' into Wick's face, shouted, "Does it _look_ like we care? C'mon, Monty made moonshine!"

" _Shh!_ " Monty shushed her promptly, adding, "What Abby doesn't know won't hurt her, but if you yell it out to the whole station, _we're_ going to be the ones getting hurt."

 _My birthday._ Clarke hadn't even thought about her birthday since getting on the Drop Ship. It seemed like a silly thing to celebrate, after everything they had been through. There were more important matters to worry about than _birthdays._ How old was she again? 18? 118?

"Clarke, are you okay?" Raven asked, noticing Clarke's bothered expression.

"I-I don't—" She was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. _Her people_ had thrown her a _birthday party._ "I don't deserve this," She asserted.

 _Mass murderers don't deserve birthday parties,_ she thought.

Before Raven could respond, Monty walked over to them, handing them both moonshine-filled cups. "Happy Birthday Clarke," he said, giving her an easy smile.

" _CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG!_ " The enthusiastic cheer roared through the room, and Monty was instantly off, simultaneously trying to quiet the crowd _and_ catch a glimpse of the idiot who thought he was brave enough to chug the famously strong drink. Lincoln, looking out of place and excited all at once, said a quick 'Happy Birthday' to Clarke before pulling Octavia away to see just how much the kid could drink.

Standing alone, Clarke stared down at the cup in her hand. Her translucent reflection stared back up at her, and she thought it looked nothing like a girl whose friends had just thrown her a surprise party. No, it looked like a girl who had pulled too many triggers and taken more lives than she had birthdays. Clarke found herself mesmerized by the swirling liquid, watching as it slowly… _changed color_? Had Monty changed his formula? The clear moonshine was gradually turning a rich, deep, thick, familiar red that had been painted over her hands many times before, sometimes as a byproduct of saving a life, and more often a result of taking one.

"Looks like you finally got that drink," a low voice quipped. Clarke blinked at the comment, causing the moonshine to revert back to the clear color it had always been.

Clarke didn't mean to roll her eyes at him, but she did.

"Did Octavia make you come?" She asked, irritated as well as glad to see him.

Bellamy, to her great amazement, smiled, leading Clarke to wonder exactly how many cups of moonshine he had already downed.

"Believe it or not, Clarke, I came all on my own." Smirking, he took a generous swig. "Besides, there was _no way in hell_ I was going to miss seeing the look on your face."

 _Yeah, that's definitely not his first cup of moonshine,_ she decided.

Clarke tilted her head disapprovingly at him and shot back, "Well, did the look on my face live up to your expectations or…?"

"Not exactly." His smile faded. "You looked confused, then _stupidly_ happy, then… _really_ sad." He downed his drink, a little _too_ eagerly.

"You're drunk," Clarke declared, somewhat amused, but also somewhat annoyed that he could read her that easily.

Confirming her suspicions about his intoxication, Bellamy swayed towards her, accusing, "And you're not enjoying your birthday party."

She crossed her arms defensively. "I _am_ enjoying it."

The skeptical look on his face told her that he didn't believe her for one second.

"Forget it," Bellamy said. "Forget every _single_ thing that's happened since we came down here." His words were beginning to slur. "Pretend you're on the Ark, and—and everyone's alive and everyone's happy. Just for tonight. _One night,_ Clarke."

"I can't just forget _everything_ that's happened to us. It's not that easy," she argued stubbornly.

He reached out and tapped the cup in her hand, causing a few drops to spill over the edge as he narrowed his eyes. "That's what the moonshine is for."

When she didn't reply, he sighed heavily. "Clarke, look around you. You're not as alone as you think you are."

"I am," she immediately retorted. " _I_ chose to leave. _I_ chose to do this on my own. Coming back doesn't just _magically_ change that." She looked around at all of the people celebrating, throwing their heads back as they laughed and drank. "I don't deserve this, Bellamy. Not after everything I've done."

Bellamy let out another long, exhausted sigh, as if he'd had this very conversation too many times before. He gestured around them. "They're all alive _because of everything you've done._ You think they threw this party because they really care about your birthday?" He asked sarcastically. "They threw this party because they care about _you_. They think you deserve this, Clarke." He paused. "Isn't that enough?"

"Do you?" She asked bluntly, pointedly ignoring his question. "Do you think I deserve this?" Her eyebrows raised, daring him to answer honestly.

He looked at her so intensely Clarke wondered if he was actually seeing double, and was just trying to determine which Clarke was the real Clarke.

The clarity of his answer was certain, absolute. "Yeah, I do."

Clarke stared at the drink in her hands for two whole seconds before downing the whole thing.

Bellamy smiled smugly, remarking, "Wasn't sure you had it in you."

She smiled back, a full on grin that was equal parts a reaction to the moonshine _and_ to Bellamy's smile.

Just like that, they were transported back to the Drop Ship camp, to the night they celebrated Unity Day. In that moment, with him, Clarke had been happy. In this moment too, she was happy.

And then she looked past Bellamy, and saw Dante.

He was covered in blood, staggering towards her.

The sound of her cup clattering to the ground, along with whatever Bellamy was saying, was muffled, as if she had just plunged into a bottomless lake.

"Dante…" she whispered, fear underlining the name as she spoke it.

" _You killed me. You shot me…and now...now you're having a party?"_ The blood seeped into his white shirt. " _How could you do that Clarke?"_

Her breathing was shallow, irregular. "You know why I had to shoot you," she said, trembling and oblivious to the now dead-silent party around her. "Cage would have _never_ stopped." Her hand gestured, emphasizing her words.

" _You don't know that for sure, Clarke. You'll never know that for sure because you didn't give my son a chance."_

"I gave him _plenty_ of chances!" she cried. "He wouldn't have stopped."

" _Clarke!"_ He shouted her name like a curse, and she felt the world shaking around her.

"Clarke!" Someone else's voice, a deeper voice, shouted her name like a plea.

Looking up and blinking rapidly, Clarke saw Bellamy staring down at her, concern in his eyes. All traces of moonshine were gone from his now deadly serious, sober demeanor. His hands were on her shoulders, and his mouth was moving. Clarke closed her eyes, trying to give her ears a better chance at making out his words.

"Clarke—listen—me—he's not—real—not real." His words were gradually growing in comprehensibility. Looking around at the stunned, murmuring party goers, he lowered his voice and said, "I'm going to take you somewhere quiet, okay? Just breathe, you're going to be okay."

She felt herself moving away from the bright room and down into a hallway and into another room, one much smaller in size. Two hands lightly pushed down on her shoulders, causing her to sit against the wall. A door shut somewhere far away. Or was it close by? She couldn't tell. Bellamy sat next to her, his shoulder touching her own. He didn't speak, giving her a few minutes to determine exactly what was reality and what was illusion.

"I—I saw Dante," she eventually confessed in a quiet, timid voice. Never before had Clarke been able to talk about the chilling hallucinations she sometimes saw, and now, sitting side by side with Bellamy, she found that the words spilled out anxiously. She knew that he, of all people, would understand, and so she continued, "He was covered in blood and he told me—he told me that I didn't give Cage a chance. That I was wrong—that maybe-maybe Cage would have stopped if I just gave him a chance."

"Clarke."

"What if he would've stopped? What if I didn't give him a chance to stop?"

"Clarke," Bellamy repeated, more forcefully.

"What if—"

" _Clarke_ _._ Cage never would have stopped, you know that. He chose not to save his own father's life. Cage never would have stopped," Bellamy said it in a way that sounded like he had repeated it to himself a million times before.

Exhausted and shaken and frustrated, Clarke confessed weakly, "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"Then don't," he said simply. "Your problems will still be there in the morning. Just close your eyes and think about something else." Bellamy straightened against the wall, and he spoke using a mild tone he probably used when calming Harper down after a bad dream. "Think about your first dance or your first kiss or the best birthday you ever had."

She wanted to protest, but couldn't find the energy to as images of golden, happy memories she forget she even had saturated her vision against her will.

Bellamy looked towards the closed door of the supply closet. "I can leave if you want me to."

"No," she said resolutely. "No, it's okay."

Almost instinctively, Clarke leaned her head onto his shoulder, too tired to care about what she was doing. She waited for Bellamy to shrug her off and scoot away, but his only reaction was to become very, very still. Clarke closed her eyes involuntarily, remembering her first dance, an unbelievably fun one Wells had asked her to go to with him.

Before drifting off, she heard Bellamy whisper, "Happy birthday, Clarke."

For the first time in months, Clarke had a good dream.

_Standing alone in a large celebration hall, Clarke stood in a bright blue and green dress, one as luminescent as the forest Finn had shown her long ago._

_"Hey kiddo."_

_She looked up to see her dad, smiling widely as he walked towards her._

_"Dad?"_

_Clarke ran at a full sprint, crashing into him and hugging him tightly._

_After a long time, and much to Clarke's reluctance, her father pulled away._

_Grabbing her hands, he placed her left hand on his shoulder and clasped her right, holding it out to the side._

_"Dad, I don't understand..."_

_"Shh...honey. Listen."_

_A soft, melodic tone hummed through the air, and her father began dancing slowly with her. They stepped flawlessly back and forth. He spun her until she was breathless with laughter and dizzy with joy. They didn't speak, not wanted to disturb the smiles that seemed to be permanently etched onto their faces._

_At some point, the music faded, and her father began fading too._

_"I love you dad," she cried, but for the first time in a long time, her tears were tears of joy._

_"I love you too, kiddo."_

* * *

When she woke, she was back in the medbay. Clarke wondered how long past sunrise she had slept, dreaming of her father. A folded note sat beside her pillow. Rubbing her eyes with one hand, she unfolded the note with the other. Chaotic but balanced scribbles covered the page, handwriting that could have only belonged to one person.

_A (probably) hungover Octavia should be on the cot next to yours. Make sure she doesn't stand up too fast._

~~_I hope you_ ~~

~~_I may have had too much to drink, don't tell Octavia that I said_ ~~

~~_About last night,_ ~~

_Just tell Octavia that's the last time she's ever drinking Monty's moonshine. I mean it._

_-Bellamy_

The three lines in the middle had been furiously crossed out. It was as if he had started each sentence firmly, got lost in the middle, and ended up abandoning the thought altogether.

She was trying to guess how he might have ended those sentences when a body stirred in the cot next to her.

Octavia groaned.

"What…the _hell_ …does Monty put in that moonshine…"

Clarke grinned before telling Octavia to go back to bed unless she wanted to face the world's worst hangover. Grabbing Bellamy's note, she left the medbay and set out to find him. She wanted to thank him for being there for her last night, for listening to her, for letting her fall asleep on his shoulder.

She figured Bellamy would probably be awake by now, and she doubted he'd mind if she went into his tent to talk to him.

Sighing, Clarke felt herself smile slightly. It finally felt like things were getting back to normal between her and Bellamy. She felt surprisingly light as she walked through the quiet camp.

Maybe she _could_ do this after all.


	10. Cold Feet

After Clarke had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, Bellamy nudged her gently a few times. When he was sure that she was definitely out, he slipped one arm through the crook of her bent knees, and the other behind her neck. Murmuring, Clarke gripped the front of his shirt and snuggled closer to him. Feeling foggy and drunk and lightheaded all at once, he carried her out of the closet they had been in and headed towards the medbay. He ran into a ridiculously drunk Octavia, hanging off an even more drunk Lincoln. Rolling his eyes at them, he told O to grab the back of his jacket and follow him. His little sister nodded, grabbing his jacket in one hand and grabbing Lincoln's hand in the other. Bellamy, still carrying a now-snoring Clarke, led them to the medbay. He felt a lot like a drunk general, guiding his staggering soldiers behind him.

After carefully tucking Clarke in, and then Octavia in the cot next to her, he scribbled a quick, likely illegible note. After a very tearful, very dramatic 'goodnight' was said between Octavia and Lincoln, Bellamy helped a swaying Lincoln get back to his tent.

Before walking into his own tent, though, he did his usual, routine check of the camp and its inhabitants, making sure everyone was accounted for. Nodding at himself, he barely made it to his bed before passing out.

He woke hours later, when the sun shone too brightly and the birds were singing too loudly and Echo's feet were too cold against his legs—

_Wait, what the hell?_

Confused, he propped himself up, looking around and trying to figure out what had happened last night. Had he really been too drunk to remember Echo getting into bed with him? Had they slept together?

Whining slightly, Echo moved closer to him, obviously displeased with the sudden disappearance of body heat.

"Echo," he said, nudging her shoulder.

"Hmm?" she murmured, showing that she was, in fact, awake, despite her closed eyes.

"What are you doing in my bed?"

Eyes finally opening, she stretched, yawning. Casually, she said, "There were two of your people in my bed last night. They smelled like…" she paused for a moment, trying to find the word she was looking for, " _moonshine_." Sitting up, she added, "Nothing happened. I just did not feel like sleeping in my bed after seeing those two doing _whatever_ they were doing there."

Bellamy chuckled, shaking his head at her. "I don't blame you."

She smiled at him. "I am sorry for intruding."

He shook his head again. "Don't worry about it."

When she bit her lip, looking more sheepish than he had ever seen her look before, he repeated, "I'm serious, Echo. Don't worry about it."

She smiled gratefully at him.

" _BELLAMY!"_ Raven's voice yelled outside of the tent, interrupting them. Her voice was impatient, desperate, and pleading. Bellamy immediately jumped out of bed and all but ran outside. His eyes searched his surroundings frantically, but the only immediate danger he saw was found on the look on Raven's face.

Teeth gritting together, she shoved a piece of paper into his face and crossed her arms anxiously. "This is from Clarke."

His heart skipped a beat, worried and confused. "What do you mean? Where is she?"

Raven looked away. Her voice was flat. "Gone. She left."

Bellamy swallowed, attempting to control himself.

"What. Do. You. Mean. She. Left." It wasn't a question, it was a demand.

"Read it," she said, pointing harshly at the note. When he hesitated, she repeated, louder, " _Read it._ "

It was the same note he had left Clarke the night before, only now there was neater handwriting on the back of it. Bellamy scanned the note quickly, his eyes devouring each curl and swoop that comprised the words.

_Raven,_

_When you read this, I'll be gone. I have my reasons for leaving, but writing them all out would take more space than I have. I can't do this anymore, Raven. I thought I could. I really thought I could. But I can't. I feel like a caged animal in this camp, trapped by not only the fence but also by my thoughts. I can't think here. The people here…they call me a hero. I'm not a hero, Raven. I'm just…I'm an eighteen year old girl. One who committed genocide. I am not a hero. It doesn't matter if the people believe I am. If anything, I'm a villain…not a hero. I can't stay. I can't._

_I need you to do something for me. I know that I don't deserve to be asking you, of all people, for anything, but…I know Bellamy will listen to you. I need you to tell him some things for me._

_Tell him that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't stay the first time, and I'm sorry I can't stay the second. If he could, he'd probably tell me that I'm just running away again. He'd probably be right. Raven, please promise me that you'll tell him not to come after me. It would just be a waste of his time._

At this point, there were distinct tear stains dotting the page, and Bellamy's grip on the note tightened at the sight of them, causing the paper to crumple slightly.

_Tell him I'm so grateful that he's been taking care of our people all of these months. Please ask him to keep taking care of them for me._

_Tell him that maybe one day I'll come back. Maybe when water stops tasting like blood and my hands stop itching and my nightmares stop appearing in front of me…I'll come back._

Her handwriting had gotten sloppier at this point, as if she had suddenly become rushed.

_Please tell my mom that I love her. Tell the rest of the camp that I'm not the hero they thought I was. I'm not. Tell them to forget about me. It's for the best._

_Goodbye, Raven._

_(I'd still pick you first.)_

_-Clarke_

Blinking several times, Bellamy waited, hoping more words would appear on the page, but of course none did. His eyes scanned the letter again, and then again. Each time, one phrase in particular demanded his attention.

_Goodbye._

Not 'May we meet again'.

 _Goodbye._ It was a final farewell.

He looked up at Raven desperately, hoping she could add anything else. She had tears in her eyes. Unflinching, she let them fall as she spoke, her voice strained but strong.

"Go after her Bellamy," she commanded. "She won't survive the winter. Not by herself."

For the first time, Bellamy spoke, his voice cracking. "I think she knows that."

Raven placed a hand on his arm, taking a deep breath. "Find Clarke and bring her back here so I can tell her that I would pick her first."

Bellamy had no idea what she was referring to, but he nodded anyway, his thoughts already out of the gate and in the forest, although his body was stuck in place. From the moment Raven said that Clarke had left, a numbness had infiltrated his body, affecting his toes, then his legs, crawling up to his heart and suffocating his throat. He tasted metal, and his head pounded from the alcohol he had drunk last night. A million thoughts ran through his mind. Simultaneously, he felt angry, worried, hurt, sick, and exhausted.

In an instant, he willed it all away, shoving the note in his pocket and focusing solely on completing three tasks. First task, grab his pack along with his gun. Second task, find O, tell her he was leaving. Third task, ask the guards if they had seen which way she went.

Jumping back into his tent, he grabbed an extra medkit and shoved it into his bag before slinging it over his shoulders. Echo, apparently having heard the conversation, said, "I have seen Clarke's eyes, Bellamy. There is nothing in them but pain. She did not ever return to this camp, not truly. Perhaps _you_ can bring her back this time." She reached out to grab his hand. "I know I cannot go with you. So please, Bellamy, please _be careful._ "

He squeezed her hand, leaning towards her to kiss her forehead. "I'll be careful."

Letting go of her hand, he rushed out of the tent, nearly knocking Octavia over in the process.

"I'm coming with you," she said firmly, chin raised and hazel eyes blazing with a fiery determination.

Bellamy sighed. He did _not_ feel like having this conversation right now. "No, O. She doesn't even want _me_ to go after her." When Octavia didn't move, he put his hands on her shoulders. "Look, I need you _here_ , to watch the camp for me."

Obviously frustrated, Octavia clenched her jaw while Bellamy continued speaking.

"Make sure that Jasper doesn't take too many night shifts. And make sure Monroe is eating enough, she sometimes forgets. Don't forget that Mel sometimes sleepwalks, so make sure she closes her tent door at night. And—"

Octavia cut him off by hugging him tightly. "I'll take care of them, big brother." She pulled away, and stuck a finger into his chest threateningly. "But only until you come back, okay?"

He nodded.

"One of the guards said they saw Clarke running East." Octavia cocked her head in the direction. "He thought she was leaving on assignment, so he didn't stop her. That was an hour ago. Lincoln thinks she's headed towards the Dropship."

Bellamy nodded again. "Be safe, O. May we meet again."

"May we meet again," she echoed, holding back tears.

With that, Bellamy adjusted the pack around his shoulders, barked at the guards to open the gate, and took off due East.

As he ran, the trees blurred together. Wind stung at his face, and even though his lungs were crying for air and his muscles were screaming for rest, he kept running. Clarke had an hour's head start, and Bellamy needed to find her as soon as possible. A lot could happen in an hour, that much he knew for sure.

Everything had happened so fast, and Bellamy replayed last night's events over and over again in his mind, trying to figure out what had made her leave so suddenly and without warning. He was angry, but not at Clarke. He was angry at himself, angry that he didn't see it coming. Angry that once again, he hadn't been enough for her. Angry that she was once again suffering alone out here in the forest.

As he ran, he cursed several names, names of people whose actions had brought Clarke to this situation, brought her to a world where she thought of herself as a monster.

The grounders who attacked the Dropship. Finn, who massacred a village. Dante and Cage Wallace and Dr. Tsing who trapped and tortured and killed their people. Lexa, who betrayed and abandoned Clarke when she needed her the most.

As their faces flashed in his mind, anger and hate and hurt fueled his legs and filled his lungs.

He would find Clarke. He would find her and be there for her like he wished he could have been there for her during the past few months. Because Bellamy knew what it was like. He understood what it felt like to hate yourself so much you could barely breathe. To welcome death into your soul like an old friend, hoping it would take you away from all of the pain. He knew what it was like to be alone with your sins, to feel them slowly tear you apart from the inside.

 _You don't have to do this alone,_ his words echoed back to him. He repeated them in his mind, a little differently this time.

_You **won't** have to do this alone, Clarke. Not this time._


	11. Hallucinations

Sighing, Clarke dropped her bag carelessly onto the ground as she slumped against a tree. Only a few hours had passed since she had left Camp Jaha, but a few hours was all she needed to remember how _absolutely horrible_ this whole exodus thing could be. Her stomach growled at her. She groaned in response.

_If I go back now…_

_No. No, there's no going back now._

Not after running away for the _second_ time. The only thing that made her feel more ashamed than that was the thought of coming home again.

Clarke scoffed at herself. She had been _so stupid_ to think that she could just go 'home' and act like 'normal old Clarke Griffin' again. 'Normal old Clarke Griffin' didn't exist, not anymore.

During her first exodus, she had run into some apparently nomadic Grounders who were traders. They had recognized her, had told her that her name was being spread throughout the 12 clans and even the Ice Nation. They had called her ' _Wanheda'_.

_The Commander of Death._

The name had forcefully imprinted itself into her soul as soon as they spoke it. She hurriedly finished trading and ran as far away from the traders as she could. Although she had vomited repeatedly, Clarke still could not get the taste of death out of her mouth. Screaming into the dirt, she tried to block the word from her mind, but to no avail. After a few hours, Clarke gave up. She accepted the fact that that title would always follow her like a ghost, sneaking into her dreams and infiltrating her thoughts.

Clarke fully avoided Grounders after that. They left her alone, much to her surprise. She wondered if that was because they were afraid of her, or because Lexa had commanded them to leave her be.

 _Lexa…_ Clarke thought absentmindedly. During the first few weeks of her exile, Clarke had planned on walking straight into Lexa's village, into her tent, and plunging a knife into her heart, and twisting.

Because that was what it had felt like when she betrayed her.

Ultimately, she didn't, of course, mostly because she didn't know if she would actually be able to do it. The cold, rational part of her told her that Lexa had made the wisest choice she could have made, one to save all of her people. The rest of her argued that it didn't matter what the wisest choice was. They had formed an alliance. A friendship. Maybe even the beginning of a relationship. And in one second, Lexa had shattered it all. Clarke had spent far too much time thinking about the 'what-if's' that would apply if Lexa had not betrayed her.

If she hadn't, Finn's death would not have been for nothing. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have had to murder every single person in Mount Weather. If she hadn't, maybe she wouldn't be out here, alone in the middle of the forest, _again._

Harsh edges of bark poked into Clarke's head uncomfortably. She sighed once more, thinking about the reasons why she was seeking refuge in the forest _this_ time.

That morning, Clarke had told Octavia to sleep a little longer in order to give the hangover a chance of wearing off. Watching Octavia sleep, Clarke had furrowed her brow. Although she had seemed friendly at the party the night before, Clarke couldn't help but feel a lingering resentment behind Octavia's smiles and hugs. Biting her lip, Clarke told herself she would talk to the youngest Blake about it, right after she talked to the oldest Blake.

She wanted to tell Bellamy how much last night had meant to her. Bellamy had stayed with her, talked to her, and Clarke hadn't realized how much she had needed that, _especially_ from him, until that morning.

As she had walked to his tent, she felt a smile growing across her face as she remembered him carrying her back to the medbay. Stuck between the worlds of consciousness and sleep, she remembered feeling safe in his arms. She remembered thinking, _We are going to get through this. And when we do, we'll be better than ever._

Her smile was smacked harshly off of her face as soon as she walked into his tent, however. Dark brown, messy curls spilled into Bellamy's sleeping face. Pressed tightly next to him was a slender frame, one that belonged to Echo. Her hand rested on his chest, and her head was tucked under Bellamy's chin.

Clarke had just stood there, blinking. A familiar tightness grew in her chest and she found herself feeling incredibly betrayed, nauseous, angry, and hurt. She _knew_ Bellamy was with Echo, so why, _why_ was she having such a strong, shocked reaction to seeing her in his bed?

A thought crept into her mind before she could stop it.

_Does he love her?_

As soon as it had crossed her mind, she turned around and walked out of his tent. Tears had stung her eyes and she hated herself for feeling whatever the hell it was she was feeling. Suddenly, it was all too much for her.

Her mom, Jasper, Monty, Octavia, Raven, Bellamy, and everyone and everything else was just too much for her. She found herself thinking it would have been better if she had never returned. Then, she found herself thinking it would be better if she left again. Better for her, better for them, better for everyone.

It had taken her only about twenty minutes to pack extra supplies, write a quick goodbye note to Raven, and lie to the guards about going on an assignment from Kane. She walked out the gate, and for the second time, she hadn't looked back.

Now she was here, back in the forest. She sighed yet again, feeling mentally and physically exhausted. Closing her eyes, she felt herself drifting into sleep.

 _I'll just sleep for a few minutes,_ she told herself. _Then I'll head towards the Dropship._

* * *

When she woke, the sun was still high in the sky, warming her cheeks with a lazy heat often found during the last few days of fall. Squinting, she looked around, remembering where she was.

Clarke didn't know exactly how long she had been asleep for. All she _did_ know was that she was hallucinating again.

Across from her, leaning against a tree, sat Bellamy. Or rather, a hallucination of Bellamy. He studied her with a tired expression on his face, apparently waiting for her to speak first. Clarke blinked harshly in an attempt to make the illusion disappear.

"Weird," Clarke muttered to herself. "Usually my hallucinations are of dead people."

Realizing what she said, fear gripped her heart, and she quickly asked, "Are—are you dead?" When the hallucination didn't reply, she glanced at her hands, asking, "Am _I_ dead?"

At that, Hallucination Bellamy dropped his gaze. He was twirling a stick between his dirt covered fingers. "I don't know," he sighed, his rough voice ringing loudly in her ears, disturbingly clear.

Clarke rubbed her eyes, hoping he would be gone when she opened them again. She was losing it again, the line between reality and illusion was blurring together messily as it often did.

Opening her eyes, she saw that he had not disappeared. She bit her lip. If this _was_ another one of her hallucinations, she would just talk to it, usually that made them go away.

"Sometimes I feel dead," she confessed.

"Me too," Hallucination Bellamy replied quietly.

Dropping her eyes to her lap, she said, "I left. Again." She twisted her fingers together. "I bet you hate me."

"No, I don't." He thought for a moment. "But sometimes I feel like I do."

Curious to see what her illusion would say, she prompted, "Sometimes?"

He snapped the stick in half, and the sound echoed loudly through the forest. Bluntly, he said, "Yeah, sometimes. Because sometimes you do stupid things like leave Camp and go into the forest all by yourself."

Chuckling softly, Clarke thought about how Bellamy would _totally_ say something like that to her. This hallucination was pretty accurate.

He threw the broken pieces of the twig to the ground. "And sometimes you don't say goodbye."

Clarke made an 'o' shape with her mouth. "About that—"

"Don't even say that you did, because _this—_ " from his pocket he pulled out the note she had written Raven, throwing it over to her, "—this _isn't_ saying goodbye, Clarke."

Mouth hanging open, Clarke stared at the note that had landed by her feet. Swallowing at the sight of it, she thought, _Maybe this isn't a hallucination after all._

Heart jumping in her chest, she ignored the note and slowly stood up. Walking tentatively towards Bellamy, she kneeled beside him. With extreme caution and obvious hesitation, Clarke moved her hand towards his cheek. If he was a hallucination, he would disappear once she touched him.

Before her fingers could reach his freckled, warm skin, his hand shot up, grabbing her wrist in a very real, non-hallucinatory way.

In a voice that was less than a whisper and that was more than surprised, she gasped, "Bellamy?"

At the sound of his name, he turned to look at her. His brown eyes were swirling with so many emotions Clarke felt dizzy just looking at them. They were filled with relief, frustration, and so, _so_ much confliction.

Clearing her throat, she said evenly, "I told you not to come after me."

Tracing light circles onto her wrist, Bellamy's thumb came to rest on her pulse, as if to convince himself that she was just as real and alive as he was, that she, too, was not a hallucination.

"No." He shook his head. "No, you told _Raven_ to tell me not to come after you."

Clarke looked away. She wanted to hug him, to bury her face into his shoulder and cry because she was so, _so_ happy to see him. But, she was also irritated to see him here. Likely, he was here to bring her back to Camp, which was something that Clarke wasn't going to do, no matter what he said.

Yanking out of his grasp, she got up and walked over to her pack. Picking it up, she slung it over her shoulders. Growing increasingly annoyed at the thought of him being here to try and convince her to go back to Camp, her irritation was clearly pronounced in the question she directed at him.

"Why are you here, Bellamy?"

"Why do you think?" He replied, equally as annoyed.

Clarke rolled her eyes. She hated how similar they were to each other.

"I think you're here to try and convince me to go back." She picked up the note, folding it before shoving it into her pack. "I'm not going back," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I can see that," Bellamy muttered.

Clarke glared at him.

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes at her. Bellamy tilted his head. "Look, we don't have to go back." He left the ' _yet_ ' unspoken. "But if we're going to make it the Dropship before nightfall, we better start walking. We can argue about this later."

She glanced at the ground, thinking for a few moments before replying.

"Okay."

Cocking an eyebrow at her quiet and pacified response, Bellamy asked, "What, that's it?" He paused. "You're not going to make me leave?"

She shook her head. "No. Why would I? You never made me stay."

Narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously, he said, "Right…" He cleared his throat. "Uh, let's get going then."

Clarke had thought that the silence of the forest was deafening when she was all by herself. _Nope,_ she thought, _the silence is_ definitely _louder now than it had been before._ She swore she could feel Bellamy's emotions radiating off of him, and she was sure he was fighting the urge to tell her _exactly_ how he felt about her leaving Camp Jaha again. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so hesitant to say what was on his mind, and that worried her…a lot.

"Watch your step," Bellamy warned as they began walking down a declining ridge.

Keeping her eyes trained on the rocks in front of her, she said, "I thought you were a hallucination."

He glanced at her. "I know."

She bit her lip. "You said that sometimes you felt dead."

The silence grew louder, and Clarke thought that Bellamy might not answer.

"So did you."

"Yeah," she whispered tightly.

The two of them walked towards the river in silence after that. Hours passed, and Clarke must have glanced over at him a hundred times, waiting for him to say something, _anything._ But he just stayed silent, meeting her gaze every once in a while. Sometimes he would clear his throat, and Clarke's pulse quickened as she mentally prepared herself for the argument she was expecting…but he would just keep walking, not saying a word besides the occasional comment on the terrain.

After a few agonizingly quiet and strained hours went by, Clarke wished for the thousandth time that Bellamy would _just get it over with_ _already._ The more time passed, the more anxious Clarke felt. Right now, both of them were reaching deep down into their souls and waking up painful memories and bitter feelings that had long lay dormant, getting them ready for the inevitable argument they would soon play large parts in, that much she knew. What she didn't know, however, was how this argument would begin, _or_ how it would end.

The more she thought about it, the more she didn't want to know.


	12. Checklists

They reached a river as the sun set into the pines, the sky erupting into a glorious array of color that seemed almost too stunning to be real. They had never had sunrises or sunsets on the Ark, not like this. Vivid colors painted the sky, reminding them that there was good on this world, however fleeting.

Standing in front of the river, Bellamy watched as it flowed lazily past him. It was wide, undoubtedly deep, and he could feel the cold temperature of it floating in the air around him. Clarke was busy filling her canteen.

"The water's _freezing_ ," she remarked, screwing the top onto her canteen. "We should wait and cross it in the morning."

Bellamy kept his eyes on the river. They should wait, he thought. But a familiar, stern voice of warning entered his mind.

"Echo told me something once. She said, 'always cross rivers when you get to them'."

"Why?" Clarke asked, genuinely curious.

Bellamy shrugged. "I figured it was just a grounder proverb or something."

"Well do you trust her?" Clarke's eyes didn't meet his own.

"Yeah," he answered, without hesitation. "With my life." His brows furrowed as he noticed Clarke's jaw clenching and unclenching at the statement.

"What are we waiting for then?" Clarke charged into the river, pushing forward until she was waist deep in the freezing water.

"Clarke!" Bellamy exclaimed, rushing after her into the river, he pulled out his gun, ready to shoot any unwelcome, dangerous, carnivorous river monsters. Clarke was right, the water was _freezing,_ so cold it seemed to seep into his bones. His skin erupted in chills.

Clarke had taken off her pack, balancing it on top of her head to keep it from getting wet. The water was now at chin level, and he could see her straining her neck.

Bellamy eyed her nervously. "Give me your pack."

She outright scoffed at him. "No way. We're almost there." She carefully removed one hand from where it was steadying her pack and used it to point at the shore.

"Yeah, but it'll be easier for you to get ' _there_ ' if you just give me your pack."

Clarke didn't respond, because the water had passed her lips, brushing against her nose.

"You're the most stubborn person I've ever met in my life," Bellamy said, shaking his head in unbelief at her. He took off his own pack and placed it on his head.

She stepped on her tip toes to retort, "Obviously you've never met yourself, Mr-I- _Specifically_ -Told-You-Not-To-Come-After-Me-But-You-Did-Anyway."

Rolling his eyes at her, he watched as Clarke bobbed through the water, letting out a breath of relief when he could see the water level was finally lowering. Now waist deep in the river, Clarke turned around, a proud, smug expression on her face as she smirked at him. He had the ridiculous urge to splash water in her face, but stopped himself before he could do it.

Finally, the two made it to the other side. They were soaking wet, their clothes sticking to their skin. The sun had gone down, and the temperature did the same. Clarke's teeth were chattering.

"You brought extra clothes, right?" Bellamy asked.

She rubbed her neck and turned away, mumbling something incomprehensible.

Bellamy's jaw almost dropped. "Seriously, Clarke? You seriously didn't bring a change of clothes for your little journey into self-exile?"

"Look, I wasn't planning on leaving until this morning, alright? So _excuse me_ for forgetting _one_ thing. It's not like I had a checklist." She shot back.

"Wait, this morning?" He questioned, surprised. He thought she had been planning on leaving all along.

"Yeah, this morning." Her hands twisted her hair, wringing it out. The water dropped to the ground, crashing into the rocks of the river bed.

Letting out a sigh, Bellamy reached into his pack. He pulled out his extra sweatshirt, pants, and socks and held them out to her.

Glancing at the clothes and then at him, she asked, "But what about you?"

He shook his head. "I'll be fine. Just go change before you freeze to death."

Clarke hesitated. After a clear mental battle she was having with herself, she finally took them and headed off to change in privacy.

Now alone by the river, Bellamy removed his shoes and socks, wringing out the socks and laying them on the still warm rocks of the river bed. Taking off his long sleeved shirt, he repeated the procedure. Rummaging through his pack, he found a piece of cloth, which he used to dry himself off as best as he could. He was about to take off his pants when Clarke emerged from the trees, her eyes growing wide.

"Sorry!" She blurted, turning around quickly.

"Clarke, wait," Bellamy said, waving his now semi-dry long-sleeved shirt in the air a few more times before pulling it on. "I was just drying off."

When she turned back around, her cheeks were tinged pink. Damp hair clung to her face, and he could see that the blonde strands were already starting to curl. His sweatshirt was far too large on her, but she didn't seem to mind. The pant legs were rolled up, and she was barefoot, mud clinging to her feet.

Bellamy swallowed. Seeing her in his clothes made his mind go completely blank for a few moments. Clarke Griffin was beautiful, and he would be a complete and utter fool not to think so. And seeing her, in his clothes, made him want to wrap her in his arms and never let go.

It pained him, because Clarke saw herself as a monster. She didn't see herself as the beautiful person that she was. Her strength, her selflessness, her soul…they had all been overshadowed by her demons. It _killed_ him to know that.

"What?" Clarke asked, looking at him oddly. He realized he was still staring at her.

Bellamy blinked and cleared his throat. "We're not going to make it to the Dropship before dark. We should probably find somewhere to stop for the night."

Sitting on the river bed, she put on his socks before putting her boots on. As she tightened the laces, she said, "Thank you for the clothes."

He nodded.

Standing up, she picked up her wet clothes. "There's a small group of trees not far from here. We can make camp there for the night."

They walked for a while, hands numb and legs cramping, until they found the protected, relatively flat plot of ground Clarke had been talking about. Dropping his pack, Bellamy began gathering firewood when the smell of smoke permeated the air. Turning, he saw that Clarke had already started a fire. He placed some of the larger logs on the already going fire, setting down the rest of the firewood to be used when the fire began dying.

The two of them sat by the fire, a few feet away from each other. The flames illuminated their features in a golden glow, revealing the sunburns they both had gotten from walking all day. Neither of them spoke. Clarke, still shivering, held her pale hands in front of the fire. Bellamy watched as her fingers practically touched the fire, the flames licking up to them dangerously close.

After a while, he couldn't take it anymore. He was sure she was going to burn her fingers if she kept trying to warm them that way.

"Come here," he said, cocking his head to show that he wanted her to come sit next to him.

After a few moments, she moved over to him, leaving a few safe inches between them.

Looking at her to gauge her reaction, he slowly grabbed her left hand. When she didn't yank it from his grasp, he enveloped it with both of his hands and rubbed gently, feeling the calluses on her palm. He brought her hand up to his mouth, blowing warm air softly onto it before rubbing it again.

Clarke kept her eyes on their joined hands, and he felt her small fingers curl around his own.

He smiled softly, and she asked, "What?"

"Sometimes, back on the Ark, the heating would get turned off in our station." He let go of her left hand, replacing it with her right. "My mom and I were splitting our rations with O, and she was tiny as it was. She was so small, and she would get _so_ cold." He paused to blow warm air onto Clarke's right hand. "She would beg my mom to do this for her until the heating came back on."

Glancing at him, Clarke smiled slightly before squeezing his hand. "Your mom would be proud of you, Bellamy."

He looked into the fire, nodding to show that he had heard her, he was just struggling to find the words to thank her for saying that.

Replacing her right hand with the left again, Bellamy opted to instead change the subject. His voice was gruff. "We need to be careful not to get hypothermia out here." Against his will, his voice broke. " _You_ almost _died_ from it last time."

"Bellamy—" Clarke started, but he had already shoved that unpleasant thought far from his mind.

"And if _I_ die from hypothermia, Echo will come out here, raise me from the dead, yell at me for not listening to her, and then kill me herself."

As soon as he mentioned Echo's name, Clarke abruptly removed her hand from his as fast as lightning. Before he even had a chance to process what had just happened, she stood up. The memory of her hand still lingered on his skin.

"We need more firewood. I'm going to go get some," she announced brusquely.

Eyebrows drawn together, Bellamy looked at the large pile of firewood he had gathered earlier that sat next to the brightly burning fire. Confused, he just looked from Clarke to the pile, to Clarke, to the pile again.

He watched as she too glanced at the pile, and then looked back at him as if she hadn't even seen the stack of wood there.

"I won't take long," s he stated flatly, and walked into the dark forest.

Bellamy let out a deep sigh, focusing on the fire in front of him, trying to figure out what had caused her to leave so suddenly. The fire crackled loudly, and embers fell to the ground like shooting stars. He wanted to run after her, to ask her why she left, why she hadn't told him she was leaving, why she hadn't said goodbye. To ask her why his forgiveness _still_ wasn't enough for her. To tell her how much she had scared him by leaving again and how glad he was that she was safe. To hug her and tell her how much he missed her. To tell her he would help her get through this.

At the same time, though, he was afraid. He was afraid that if he let himself say all of the things he wanted to say, they would never be able to go back to the way they used to be…to being friends. And in the past few hours, they had automatically sort of fallen back into that camaraderie they had once shared so long ago. He had missed having that with her, and it felt nice to just walk with her, to ignore the fact they weren't as ' _okay'_ as they were currently pretending to be.

Deep down, feelings of hurt and resentment and anger were simmering within both of them. It would only be a matter of time before they came exploding to the top. When that happened, Bellamy wasn't sure how it would end. He was worried it would end with her screaming, _Just leave me alone, Bellamy!_ And he would scream back, _Fine, I will!_ And they would walk their separate ways, probably never to see each other again.

Bellamy sighed again, grabbing a stick and stoking the fire with it.

About ten minutes later, Clarke returned, without any firewood. She pulled out her sleeping bag and rolled it out on the opposite side of the fire from Bellamy. Not even looking at him, she took her shoes off and slipped inside of it.

"You know, Bellamy, we're going to have to talk about _it_ sooner or later," she muttered, turning away from him. _It_ being the fact that she left again.

"Yeah, I know," he breathed in response.

He just prayed it would happen later rather than sooner.

Bellamy placed a few more logs on the fire before rolling out his sleeping bag. He watched as Clarke's breathing evened. Wrapping his sleeping bag around himself, he sat against a tree. As tired as he was, he didn't let himself fall asleep just yet. He sat, watching over Clarke, making sure she didn't have nightmares and that they weren't going to be attacked by Grounders or any animals.

When the moon was high in the sky, Bellamy noticed Clarke was still shivering. Despite his better judgement, and ignoring Echo's stern voice in his head telling him how stupid of an idea this was, he got up and put his sleeping bag on top of hers, making sure she was covered.

Holding his jacket tightly around himself, he moved closer to the fire. Soon, he couldn't feel his face, and his toes went numb. He shuddered, pulling his legs closer to his chest in an attempt to preserve body heat.

 _At least Clarke isn't shivering anymore,_ he thought as he closed his eyes.


	13. Scars, Oatmeal, and a Confession

Breathing in contentedly, Clarke could smell hints of campfire smoke still lingering in the crisp morning air around her. Eyes closed, she let out a small sigh as she drowsily relished in the fact that she was currently enveloped in a cocoon of comfortable warmth. She stretched her legs, noting their soreness with an almost tender sense of familiarity. The sleeping bag she was in was almost _intoxicatingly_ warm, and she arched her back appreciatively.

Slowly and _very_ reluctantly, she sat up. One hand curling its way around the back of her neck, she rolled her head from side to side in an attempt to relieve some of the stiffness it had acquired from the position she had fallen asleep in the night before. She spread her hands on top of the sleeping bag. Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, she lifted it up, only to reveal another sleeping bag lying underneath it.

_What?_

Sometime last night, another sleeping bag had been placed over her, she realized. Glancing over at Bellamy, her heart twisted in her chest at the sight of him. He was lying down, _uncovered_ , near the now-dwindling pile of firewood. Knuckles white from gripping his jacket around himself, his cheeks and nose were tinged pink. Rhythmically, he inhaled and exhaled, cold breaths swirling upwards into the air above him. Nearby, a bird sang a quiet song, one that sounded oddly melancholic to Clarke's ears.

Keeping her eyes on Bellamy, Clarke grabbed her boots and shook them out vigorously. Gritting her teeth, she thought, _Doesn't he know how cold it gets out here?! What the hell was he thinking?!_

Frustrated, she grabbed both sleeping bags and walked over to him, stepping lightly on frost-covered ground. Gently, she draped both sleeping bags over Bellamy, careful not to wake him.

"You're definitely more stubborn that I am," she muttered softly, kneeling beside him.

Clarke was about to stand when a jagged, raised scar about two inches long and lying across his exposed collarbone caught her eye. Using her thumb, she skimmed over the scar tenderly, wondering how he had gotten it, and frowning because she hadn't been there when he had.

Just how much _had_ she missed while she was gone?

Bellamy stirred slightly, and Clarke quickly withdrew her fingers, embarrassed. His eyes fluttered open, focusing on her briefly before closing again.

"Hey," he said drowsily, clearly not fully awake yet.

" _Hey_." She echoed, smiling softly at his sleepy tone.

He mumbled something in response. The only words she caught were _left, goodbye,_ and _why._ Her pulse quickened.

"What?" She asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"You didn't even say goodbye…" he whispered hoarsely, tired eyes searching hers. "After _everything_ we've been through…"

Clarke swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. " _Shh…_ " she said, trying to block out how _hurt_ his voice sounded. "We can talk about this after you sleep some more, okay?"

Bellamy closed his eyes in response, slipping easily back into sleep. Before she could stop herself, Clarke pressed a kiss to his forehead, tears dripping from her cheeks to his skin as she did so.

"I'll be right back," she whispered to him shakily.

Standing up, Clarke bit the back of her hand to keep herself from crying out. The fact that _that_ was the _first_ thing on his mind upon waking made her heart ache with a pain so great she wished she could just rip it out of her chest.

_Why didn't I say goodbye?_

Inwardly, she already knew the answer to that question. She didn't say goodbye because she couldn't bear the thought of seeing the look on his face when he realized she was leaving, again. The way his pleading, deep brown eyes had poured into her soul the last time she told him she was leaving was engraved in her mind, forever. It had taken _every_ last ounce of strength she had to pull away from him, and she had forced herself not to look back as she walked into the forest. It had felt like tearing herself in half last time, and Clarke wasn't sure if she could have done that again.

And so, urged on by her guilt and pushed by her pain, she left, again. Only this time, she hadn't said goodbye. Oh _how_ badly she wished she could have been strong enough to have faced him, but she had long convinced herself that she wasn't strong, not anymore.

Inhaling deeply, Clarke used the back of her—of _Bellamy's_ —shirt sleeves to wipe the tears that had run down her face.

In order to get her mind off of the _raw hurt_ she had heard in Bellamy's voice, off of the guilt she was feeling, she decided she would make breakfast. Not only would it get her mind off things, but she figured it was a way of saying thank you without _actually_ saying thank you, without _actually_ admitting to him how much it meant to her that he was still out here, sacrificing his clothes and his sleeping bag and his health for her. She still felt that it would have been better if he had stayed in Camp Jaha. At least there, he had an actual bed, access to proper medical care, and proper nutrition. Yet, even she couldn't deny how grateful she was that he _was_ out here, with her.

Adjusting her pack over her shoulders, she glanced at Bellamy one last time before leaving. The river they had crossed the night before wasn't far, and Clarke figured that the short walk to get fresh water would be worth it. Not to mention it was still fairly early, and she guessed that Bellamy would probably still be asleep by the time she got back. After sleeping in _damp_ clothes, braving freezing cold temperatures, she _hoped_ Bellamy he would still be asleep by the time she got back.

It hadn't taken long for Clarke to reach the river and fill three canteens to the brim with fresh water. Crouching, she rolled up the sleeves of Bellamy's shirt before splashing the frigid cold water onto her face. She tightened the straps on her pack, and then headed back towards camp.

She was in the middle of gathering some nuts when she heard shouting. She froze, turning her head towards the direction of the sound.

" _CLARKE!"_ It was Bellamy's voice, roaring through the forest. He sounded distressed and desperate and dangerous all at once.

Dropping the nuts, Clarke ran towards the sound of his voice, trying not to focus on the stream of thoughts that had come unbidden to her mind.

_He's hurt. Bellamy's hurt. He's hurt and it's my fault and he shouldn't be out here and he shouldn't be out here and he should've stayed and he should've stayed—_

She spotted him about a hundred yards from where they had camped the night before.

He was searching the woods frantically around him, his dark brown, curly hair messier than ever. Hearing her footsteps, he turned, eyes locking onto her. Clarke stopped abruptly in her tracks at the sheer intensity of his gaze.

Blinking, Bellamy stammered, "I—I thought you left."

"I went to get water," Clarke swallowed roughly, "to make breakfast."

Stepping towards her as if he hadn't even heard her speak, Bellamy softly exhaled, " _I thought you left…_ "

Clarke's heart was hammering in her chest. She couldn't tell if it was because she had just been running, or because of the way Bellamy was looking at her, the way his shoulders had visibly relaxed, the way his voice was _bleeding_ with relief.

Bellamy stepped closer to her, a little hesitantly at first, examining her for any injuries. Finding none, he unashamedly crashed into her, wrapping his arms around her middle and clinging to her tightly. Clarke easily wrapped her own arms around his neck, instinctively burying her face into where his neck met his shoulders. Closing her eyes, she breathed him in, subconsciously pulling him closer until they were pressed perfectly against each other, until no space was left between them.

She had missed this, had missed _him._ Had missed being _this_ close to him, had missed feeling him tighten his hold on her like it was more necessary and natural than even breathing. She felt his fingers gently anchor themselves into the spaces between her ribs, and she couldn't stop herself from smiling against his skin.

" _You scared the hell out of me_ ," he murmured into her hair.

"I didn't want to wake you," she replied quietly, smile disappearing at the worry still clearly evident in his tone.

Reluctantly, they pulled away from each other, looking into each other's eyes. Clarke didn't know what to say, didn't know if she _should_ say anything. Their eyes were communicating with each other, saying everything they wanted so desperately to say aloud but could never find the right words to do so.

Bellamy looked away first, and Clarke wondered what that meant.

Sticking his hands into his jacket pockets, he cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, I'll make a fire."

"No, no I can do it," she said quickly, but firmly enough that he didn't argue.

They walked back to camp, glancing sideways at each other every now and then.

Clarke started a fire and began boiling water, watching out of the corner of her eyes as Bellamy gathered their supplies, rolling their sleeping bags and making sure they were ready to leave once they ate.

As the water began bubbling, Clarke kept glancing over at him, trying to figure out _why_ he had given up his sleeping bag for her in the first place. Confusion quickly led to irritation, and she thought, _I never asked him to do that. I never asked him to come after me or give me his clothes or pull that damned lever with me or—_

"Here," he said, placing a few more logs onto the fire. Caught up in her thoughts, Clarke hadn't even noticed that the fire had been fading.

Forcing a casual tone, she said, "Thanks." Glancing up at him, she added, "You didn't have to give me your sleeping bag last night, you know."

"You were shivering," he said gruffly, shrugging.

Clarke bit her lip. "You could have gotten frostbite or hypothermia or _worse._ " She admonished weakly, not meeting his eyes.

He sat next to her, eyes also downcast. "You were shivering."

Sighing, Clarke turned away from him to grab two packages of oats from her bag.

The two of them sat silently, waiting as the oats boiled. Luckily, the downed Factory Station's pantries had survived the crash landing, a miracle that would undoubtedly help the Arkers survive until the spring. When Clarke had hurriedly shoved supplies into her bag before leaving Camp Jaha the day before, she figured that they wouldn't miss a few packages of food. She ended up taking oatmeal, dried fruit, and some granola bars.

She poured the cooked oatmeal into two bowls that they had brought. Clarke watched as Bellamy stared down into his bowl, stirring the mushy, bland oatmeal and not eating.

Desperate to escape the horrible tension that had settled over their quiet breakfast, Clarke weakly joked, "So you can drink Monty's moonshine without even blinking, but you can't stomach a few bites of oatmeal?"

"Monty's moonshine doesn't taste like shit," he deadpanned, not a hint of humor in his voice.

Clarke looked down at her bowl, spooning through the pale grey, tasteless oatmeal. He was right, but they both finished their oatmeal anyways, knowing that they would be stupid not to eat it.

After they had cleaned their bowls, Bellamy put out the fire. They gathered the rest of their supplies, and began heading towards the Dropship.

* * *

All morning as they walked, Clarke kept anxiously adjusting her bag over her shoulders again and again. Her thoughts were still stuck on the fact that Bellamy had casually brushed over the fact that he had risked losing limb and life just because _she was shivering._ Every time she glanced down, she was reminded that she was _still_ wearing _his_ clothes, and every time she looked over at him, all she could think was one thing.

_He could have died._

Gritting her teeth together, she mentally argued with herself as they neared the Dropship. Rationally speaking, he would be safest in Camp Jaha. He should go back there, where he would be away from harm within the protection of the electric fence. Out here, anything could happen, and Clarke would _never_ forgive herself if something happened to him. It would be the smartest thing for him to go back.

Mustering up the courage to speak, she put a hand on his arm, stopping them both.

"You shouldn't have come after me, Bellamy," she forced out, not meaning a single word.

He paused, registering her words. Shaking his head in disbelief, he asked hotly, "What did you just say?"

Clarke looked away. "You heard me. You should go back."

"No. No way in hell." Raising his eyebrows, he added stubbornly, "The _only_ way I'm going back there is if _you're_ going back there with me."

Conflicted, Clarke sighed as she let go of his arm and started walking again, leaving Bellamy standing there.

"Clarke, _wait,_ " Bellamy urged after a few moments. She felt his hand gently tug on her shoulder, stopping her from going any further. Licking his lips, he asked solemnly, "Do you really want me to leave?"

"Yes," she answered reflexively, before promptly shaking her head and saying, "No." Sighing, she looked out at the endless expanse of forest behind him. "I don't know."

" _Clarke,_ " Bellamy said, _so gently_ that she _had_ to look at him. "Just tell me if you want me to stay or not," he breathed.

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she shook her head, unable to answer honestly.

The muscle in Bellamy's jaw jumped. "Look," he roughly began, "I get that you don't need me to—"

"Stay," Clarke interjected.

Bellamy shifted his weight, taking a step backwards. His eyebrows furrowed as he blinked in confusion. Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to say something.

"Uh, yeah," he said, voice cracking ever so slightly. "I get that you don't need me to stay. But I just—Clarke, I—" He trailed off, swallowing roughly.

Eyes wide, Clarke realized he had misunderstood her interruption. For a brief second, she considered not correcting him, but the words were already climbing halfway up her throat.

"No, Bellamy," she said, voice wavering as she spoke his name. Closing her eyes, she took a deep, steadying breath. " _I want you to stay._ "

She kept her eyes closed, and waited for him to respond.


	14. A Memorial Service

" _I want you to stay._ "

It had been an unashamed, urgent statement, said through wavering syllables.

Bellamy simply stood, struck into a stupor of speechlessness. He hadn't expected the directness of Clarke's declaration, and his mind went blank as he tried to process the fact that the girl that had run away from  _everyone_ and  _everything_  she loved, had just told him that  _she wanted him to stay._  Yet, gnawing deep within his being, a memory persisted, having taken root in the deepest, darkest crevices of his soul. It whispered a bitter, stinging taunt.

_You wanted her to stay, once, too, and she walked away from you without looking back. Remember?_

He struggled to force the thought out of his mind.

Before him stood Clarke, her eyes stubbornly shut. At her sides, her small hands were clenched into fists, and he couldn't ignore the way his heart tightened in his chest when he realized they were trembling. Bellamy fought the fierce urge to grab her hands, to uncurl them, to try and help her understand that she didn't have to fight anymore.

"Bellamy…?" Clarke asked uneasily, opening her eyes to look at him.

He blinked, realizing he still hadn't responded.

Misreading his silence as hesitation, Clarke began rapidly backtracking. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to." Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she lowered her eyes. "You'd probably rather be with Octavia and—" she swallowed roughly, "—and Echo anyways. And our people—they need you." She was rambling now. "I mean, what if something happens and you're not there? What if something happens, and they need you, but you can't be there because you're stuck out here with me, and—"

"You probably should've thought about that before you decided to run off into the forest again," Bellamy spit out, wincing at the unintended harshness in his voice that Clarke clearly didn't miss, if the pained look on her face was any indication. Taking a deep breath, he assured, "I put O in charge. She'll take care of them until we get back."

" _We?_ " Clarke echoed weakly.

"Yeah,  _we._  Our people need _you_  just as much as they need me, Clarke. I still don't get why the hell you won't accept that."

She shook her head and turned away from him, the self-loathing bitingly evident in her tone as she muttered, "They're better off without me."

Grinding his teeth, Bellamy mentally cursed himself. He hadn't planned on telling her this, but she needed to understand just how much the 48 needed her, especially considering how insistently she believed otherwise.

Gruelingly, he said, "We had a memorial service for you, you know."

Taken aback, Clarke's eyebrows knit together. "A… _memorial service?_ "

Nodding roughly, he looked to the side, trying to quell the overwhelming dread that seemed to mercilessly tunnel its way into his stomach every time he thought of that day.

"Three months, after you left, a memorial service for Clarke Griffin was held," he intoned, not even bothering to hide the blatant bitterness in his voice. Scoffing, he explained, "Some people thought it would help give your mom and the camp some  _closure._ " He drew out the word mockingly, shaking his head. "You should've seen the look on Raven's face when they asked her if she would speak at it."

A small, almost fond smile crossed his face briefly. "Not  _one_  of the 48 went. Instead, they built this huge bonfire on the opposite end of camp. All night, they just stood around it, drinking moonshine and talking about you." He paused. "They wondered where you were, what you were doing…whether or not you were okay. A few of them kept adding more and more wood to the fire, thinking that if it got big enough, maybe you'd be able to see it from wherever the hell you were."

He lifted his eyes at the sound of Clarke inhaling sharply, and saw that she had placed a hand over her mouth, her eyes growing wide with…recognition?  _Had she actually seen the fire?_

Instead of stopping to ask her, he continued retelling the events of that night.

"They spent the entire night talking about how much they missed you, about how they would give  _anything_  to have you back." He took a deep breath before emphasizing, " _They need you_ , Clarke."

Although tears were threatening to spill from her eyes, she still didn't speak. Bellamy looked up and shook his head slightly, like he couldn't believe he was about to say what he was going to say.

Looking anywhere but her eyes, he bluntly stated, "Look, I get that my forgiveness isn't enough for you."

Clarke opened her mouth to protest, but Bellamy's words propelled forward with increasing intensity.

"And I get that I will  _never_  be enough to make you stay." As soon as he spoke it, the statement seemed to materialize in his throat, and he had to swallow  _hard_  to keep his voice from breaking. "I get that you don't need me, that you don't need my help."

"Bellamy—"

"But have you ever stopped to think that maybe,  _just_ maybe,  _they_ could help you? That maybe Raven or Monty or  _your mother_  could help you  _if you just let them_?" He asked, his tone bordering on pleading.

Holding her gaze determinedly, he watched as she contemplated his words. When she finally spoke, her words were strained, pronounced with remorse as well as a helplessness she usually hid well.

"For months, it's just been  _me_ , Bellamy," she argued. "It's just been me and I—I don't know if I can—I don't know  _how_  to just  _let them_ help me. I wish that I did, but I just— _I don't know how—"_

Breaking off, she looked up at him through red rimmed lashes, her eyes as blue as a summer storm and twice as troubled. She moved to adjust her pack over her shoulders for the millionth time, and Bellamy stepped towards her, putting his hands over her own to stop her from performing what he recognized was an anxious gesture.

Her hands stilled, and dropped slowly back down to her sides. Bellamy kept his hands resting gently on her shoulders, his thumb brushing over the collar of her—of  _his_ —shirt, lightly grazing the skin there.

"You don't have to know  _how,_  Clarke. You just have to  _let them try._ Let  _me_  try," he stressed meaningfully.

Clarke's eyes fluttered shut as Bellamy's thumb inched its way just beneath the fabric of the shirt. He began tracing soft lines on the skin just below her collarbone with a comforting tenderness so intimate it surprised them both.

Faintly, Clarke whispered, arguing, "I  _do_  need you, Bellamy."

Bellamy's thumb stilled, his heart tightening painfully in his chest.

"If you needed me, you wouldn't have left," he said quietly, his voice holding within it a sort of defeated acceptance, a heaviness of heart that seemed to permeate the air between them.

Almost abruptly, he took a step back, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and clearing his throat.

Clarke's eyes flashed with guilt for the briefest of moments, but before she could say anything, Bellamy turned his attention back to the forest before them, searching the tree branches above them cautiously.

Evenly, he stated, "We should keep walking."

Eyes downcast, Clarke gave a short nod, adjusting her pack over her shoulders.

The sound of their steps, once again, became the only sound that passed between them the rest of the way to the Dropship.

* * *

Side by side, they walked through the gates of the Dropship Camp, the silence between them heavy as they thought about how much had changed since they made the decision to leave it so long ago.

Clarke dug her fingernails into her palm, keeping her eyes locked onto the imposing metal structure that had brought them to Earth in the first place.

Bones littered the ground around them, crunching sickeningly underneath their boots. Reluctantly, Clarke looked down to watch where she was stepping, and immediately regretted the decision. In the ribs and skulls scattered around her, she saw not only Grounders, but the citizens of Mount Weather as well. After all, hadn't she pulled a lever to sentence them both to death? Soon, it became almost impossible for her to breath, and she stopped in front of a pile of bones, unable to tear her eyes away. In her mind, she repeated words Bellamy had spoken to her long ago.

_Had to be done had to be done had to be done had to be done had to be—_

"Clarke, look at me," Bellamy's deep voice interrupted.

After staring at the skeleton for a few more seconds, she looked over to him, forcing a tight smile.

Worry creased his forehead, and his eyes were wrought with understanding. She readied herself to lie _I'm fine,_  when he would inevitably ask her if she was okay.

Instead, he cocked his head towards the Dropship, his concerned eyes never leaving her own. "If we're lucky, the water pump and solar panels might still be working." He prompted.

Recognizing the obvious distraction, her smile became a small, genuinely appreciative one as she replied, "They were both working a few weeks ago."

 _"_ A few weeks ago?" He repeated, eyebrows furrowed as he waited for her to elaborate.

"Yeah. I, uh, I came here a few weeks ago during one of those really bad storms."

"Was it that one where it hailed for three days straight?"

Surprised, Clarke nodded. "Yeah…I left right after the hail stopped. Why?"

Bellamy ran a hand over his face, muttering, "We must've just missed you."

She blinked. " _What_?" She asked breathlessly, feeling like the wind had just been brutally knocked out of her.

"It doesn't matter," he sighed, resigned. Walking towards the Dropship, he said, "I'll check the panels."

"I'll check the pump," she replied dumbly, but he was already halfway across camp.

 Sighing, she walked towards the ramp of the Dropship.


	15. Snowed In

When Bellamy had walked into the Dropship, his steps clattering against the metal ramp, Clarke had only been mildly surprised to spot clumps of white snow clinging to his hair. Bright, fluorescent light bounced harshly off the cold metal walls of the Dropship, illuminating his features. He ran a hand through his damp, curly mess of hair, asking Clarke about the condition of the water pump.

It was working fine, Clarke had told him, watching as he hesitated for the subtlest of seconds before placing a hand on the lever by the door. He pulled the lever, muttering about how he had a feeling the snow would only get worse before it got better, his dark eyes watching as the door of the Dropship closed, but not really watching at all. She didn't have to ask to know what he was remembering. When she had sought shelter at the Dropship a few weeks prior, she hadn't even been able to bring herself to pull the lever, and now she marveled at the fact that Bellamy had even done so.

His eyes flashed up to meet hers. Abruptly, she looked away, pretending not to hear the tired sigh he gave as he stepped away from the door. Bellamy slumped down against the wall, rifling through his pack and pulling out what looked like a wrinkled map.

Outside, the wind beat harshly against the Dropship, howling like the wolves Clarke had often heard during lonely nights in the woods. It filled her with a strange sense of comfort, one she didn't really understand and knew she never really would.

Clarke had set her sleeping bag out on the elevated platform. The thought of slipping into it, closing her eyes, and waiting for the storm to pass seemed easy and inviting…but then Bellamy would shift slightly, and the sound would echo through the enclosed space, filling her veins with anxiety.

She lasted about five minutes before she started pacing.

Boots shuffling against the ground, she tried to limit how many times she let her gaze fall on Bellamy.

 _He's wrong,_ Clarke thought, noticing the way his mouth twisted into a scowl as he traced a line across the creased map with his finger.  _He's so wrong._

_I do need him. Why does he think that I don't? I do._

She twirled around and started pacing towards the other side of the Dropship.

_You heard what he said. If you needed him you wouldn't have left._

_But this time I left because I needed him._

She paused, shaking her head.

_That doesn't make any sense._

_But it's true, isn't it?_

She started pacing again.

_He still hasn't said anything about me leaving._

_Is he waiting for me to say something first? Why doesn't he—_

"Are you planning on pacing until the storm ends? Because it's gonna be awhile," Bellamy interrupted, clearly annoyed. His eyes never left the map.

Releasing an audible sigh, Clarke stopped, crossing her arms and turning to face him. "I think we should talk."

"Now?" Bellamy asked, raising his eyebrow at the map.

"Yeah  _now_." She gritted her teeth together. "Or would you rather keep pretending that everything's  _fine_  between us?"

Letting out a long breath, he muttered, "What do you want me to say, Clarke?"

Clarke crossed the room to where he sat. "I want you to say what I know you've been  _dying_  to say to me since you found me!"

Bellamy's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

She huffed, irritated. It was like Bellamy was  _afraid_  to say something.  _Bellamy…afraid_ to say what was on his mind. It didn't add up, and it bothered her.

"I'm not made of glass, Bellamy," she said, but her voice betrayed her, trembling halfway through the sentence. "So just tell me. Tell me I'm a  _coward._  That I'm  _weak,"_ she spit the words out painfully. "That I'm  _selfish_ for leaving again."

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down roughly before he stated, "No."

"Why the hell not?" She asked, grabbing the map from his hands aggressively to get him to look up at her. "Ever since we landed on this damn planet you've  _never_  hesitated to tell me exactly what's on your mind. Why are you hesitating _now?_ "

Sighing, he stood up, towering dangerously close to her. "Give me the map, Clarke," he warned lowly.

Forcing herself to keep her ground as he loomed over her, she lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes at him.

" _Make me,"_ she challenged.

His eyes flashed darkly, and Clarke's heart stuttered in her chest at the unreadable expression he gave her.

She swallowed, taking a deep breath. "Just say what you want to say to me, Bellamy."

" _No._ " His monosyllabic word had a tense, dangerous edge to it.

"Why not?!" Clarke asked, exasperated. "I don't understand why you won't just—"

" _I CAN'T LOSE YOU AGAIN!"_  He shouted, grabbing her upper arms. Chills ran down the length of her spine, and she dropped the map to the ground. Lowering his voice, Bellamy's eyes desperately poured into her own as he repeated, "I can't lose you again."

Clarke's mouth dropped open, and she tried to say something… _anything._  His face was inches from hers, and all she could think about was how his freckles were more beautiful and complex than stars tessellating a clear night sky. She wanted to get lost in them…she  _was_  lost in them. Lost in his freckles and his warm eyes and his deep voice, lost in the pureness of the phrase that had just left his lips.  _I can't lose you again,_ he had said, and as lost as she was in him at that moment, she also felt profoundly found.

Bellamy knew her, understood her in ways that no one else ever had and ever could. Looking into his eyes, she felt something deep within her awaken, something long buried in the ashes of her sins and nearly forgotten in the mess that her mind had become.

_Hope._

Looking at him, she felt hope. She felt hope for a future that she knew she didn't deserve but found herself wanting anyways. She saw healing and she saw happiness and she saw  _him._

Bellamy exhaled, bringing her back to the present and saying, "I know that you're waiting for me to yell at you for leaving again," he said, "but I won't. I  _won't_  because if I do you might leave again and I just—" he paused, shaking his head. "I can't risk that. That's why—"

"I left because of Echo," Clarke blurted, surprising them both.

Slowly, he let go of her arms. "Echo? What the hell are you talking about? Did she say something to you?" He demanded.

"No!" Heat rising in her cheeks, she looked away. "No, it's just that when I went into your tent the morning after the party, she was in your bed," she said simply.

Bellamy's eyebrows only furrowed further into confusion as he tried to make sense of what she was saying and why it had to do with her leaving again.

Embarrassed, Clarke attempted to explain something she barely understood herself. "That came out wrong. It's just—I thought that things were finally getting back to normal between us, but then I saw Echo and—" She trailed off weakly, unable to continue. "I know you two are together so I don't know why—"

" _Were,_ " Bellamy corrected tersely. "We were together."

Clarke couldn't ignore the overwhelming feeling of relief that washed over her. "But—I saw her, Bellamy. She was there, in your—"

"A couple of kids were in her tent, so she crashed in mine for the night." He studied her carefully. "We're not together."

A few moments of silence passed.

"Oh."

Bellamy raised his eyebrows and scoffed. "Oh? That's all you're going to say?  _Oh?_  What the hell, Clarke? Why do you even care about who is or isn't in my bed?"

"I don't," she defended far too quickly, the lie leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. "It's just I always thought that when I came back you and I would just go back to being what we used to be, but we didn't. And now, you're always with Echo and she's always with you and she makes you laugh and we barely talk anymore and I—" She paused, mentally cursing herself for saying things that didn't make any sense. Taking a deep breath, she said softly, "Look, I don't know, okay? I don't know."

Licking his lips, his breath mingled with her own as he asked, "What we used to be?"

"What?"

"You said you thought that we would go back to being 'what we used to be'," he said softly.

"Yeah," Clarke breathed, agonizingly aware of how close their faces were. "Friends."

" _Friends._  Right." An amused smirk crossed his face, one that infuriated her more than it should have. "Because Monroe leaves camp every time she finds Echo in my bed too."

" _Bellamy…_ " Clarke pleaded in a near whine, frustrated. Her eyes trailed the sharp angle of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. "I'm serious."

"You always are," he whispered, with a fondness that made her pulse quicken. Their noses were nearly touching.

Needing some stability, Clarke placed her hands on his chest, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and inadvertently pulling him closer. He leaned towards her, and she staggered backwards as a result. His hands were immediately on her hips, steadying her. With her arms raised, however, the large shirt (his shirt) she wore lifted away from her skin, and his hands landed on her exposed waist. Clarke drew in a sharp breath at his touch, her heart drumming in her chest.

Bellamy wet his lips, and she couldn't keep her eyes off of them.

"Clarke…" He whispered, his voice deeper than she had ever heard it. "What happens between us now is up to you."

She forgot how to breathe. "What—what do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," he said roughly, his eyes flickering down to her parted lips. "If you want us to go back to being 'what we used to be', then you can't keep running."

_Oh. Right. Of course. Yeah._

Sighing, she let go of his shirt, trying not to notice how his fingers lingered on her hips for just a second too long before letting go.

Clearing her throat, she said, "I can't go back there until we fix what's wrong with us."

Bellamy put his hands in his jacket pockets, shrugging as he replied, "Then we'll fix whatever the hell is wrong with us."

"How?" She asked in a voice so small she hardly recognized it.

He thought for few moments. "I don't know."

Clarke's heart dropped, and she struggled to swallow away the tightness in her throat.

Bellamy must have noticed, because he added, "But we'll figure it out. We always do."

She nodded weakly.

He sighed, glancing towards the door. "I guess...I guess we could start by going over what happened while you were gone."


	16. Whenever you're ready

Harsh winds from the storm blew against the Dropship, making the cold metal creak and groan. The pale blue-white lights flickered erratically above them.

The two of them were sitting side by side against the wall, shoulders brushing. Bellamy picked at a loose thread in his pants, his voice gruff as he recounted the events of the past few months.

Clarke had expected him to describe in detail the various political truces and trade agreements, the camp’s infrastructure and energy capabilities, long-term agricultural projects and hunting strategies. It was what her mother, Raven, and Monty had all told her, whisking over details so rapidly she could barely keep up.

But Bellamy, running calloused hands through inky curls, spoke only about their friends. His breath materialized in the frigid air as he spoke, swirling upwards and matching the emotion in his eyes.

“The first two months were the worst,” he admitted, leaning his head against the wall. “It was like we escaped from one hell only to walk into another. Not enough food. Not enough medicine. She wouldn’t admit it, but Raven’s leg kept getting worse. Jasper wouldn’t even look at me, and every time Monty tried to talk to him he’d get so _angry.”_

The muscle in his jaw jumped, and she could see the frustration lingering between his grit teeth. Clarke stayed silent, not trusting herself to speak.

Bellamy shook his head a little. “There—there were days where I’d go into the training room,” he took a sharp breath, chronic exhaustion lingering over his features, “and I’d find Harper curled up on the mats with her knuckles split open. She just kept saying over and over again that she needed to be _stronger,_ that she wasn’t strong enough.”

He let out a breath. “I—none of us slept much during those first few weeks.”

Clarke clenched her fists, carving half-moons into the flesh of her palms that matched the ones she spent hours watching on nights when ghosts haunted her own exhausted mind. Nights when she had lied to herself, choosing to believe that her friends were better off without her, that she had made the right decision to leave them. It was wrong to leave them then, and it was wrong to leave them now, she realized with a sharp pang of guilt.

“Most of us just wanted to forget what happened,” Bellamy muttered, a distinct weariness mingled in with each syllable he spoke.

“Easier said than done,” Clarke supplied, voice hoarse from disuse. 

A heavy moment of silence passed between them, the wind howling outside like an unanswered plea.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Bellamy granted after a few moments, his lips curving into a small smile. It was how they all smiled now, Clarke realized. Veiled smiles, only daring to upturn their lips for a few seconds because they had been reminded again and again that happiness did not last long on a place as unpredictable and merciless as Earth.

She instinctively turned towards him, listening intently as he described to her how they were able to trade medical supplies for a band of strikingly beautiful horses. Octavia had named hers _Helios,_ he said with a hint of pride, describing how the children had squealed with joy when Octavia let them take turns feeding the impressive horse.

There was the day it first snowed, too, he added, shaking his head as he recounted how Echo had nearly laughed herself to tears at the Camp’s awed reaction to seeing snow for the first time.

“That night, she told me that she had only ever seen children happy to see snow before. But the next day she helped us build a snowman. It was covered in mud and leaves, and Monroe said it was lopsided, but it was still a snowman.”

Clarke couldn’t help it, she laughed. Bellamy’s smile stretched into a grin, and it was like watching the sun rise. Light creeped its way onto the shadows of his face, his freckles shining brighter than morning stars.

It felt good, _right_ , to be sitting beside him, drinking in his smile like it was the last thing she’d ever see.

It was small, but it happiness and it was peace and it scared the _hell_ out of her.

She wasn’t supposed to feel the corners of her mouth rising effortlessly. She wasn’t supposed to feel calm, or safe. It was the punishment she deserved for the crimes she had committed, a self-imposed sentence since there were no judges to condemn her, no jury to convict her.

Yet, she _did._ Watching Bellamy’s lips relax into a lazy smirk, she felt happiness. His warm brown eyes shone, and she felt peace. Clarke couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, from this version of Bellamy that was so rarely seen in a world that refused to let them rest.

His face soon grew somber, though, and she felt hers fall in tandem.

“They wanted to go after you, you know,” he said faintly, eyes downcast. “They told me that they wanted to find you more than they were scared of Grounders or anything else in the woods. Every week, a group of us would go looking for you.”

Clarke looked down, guilt once again creeping into her heart as she thought of her friends. She imagined them walking through the gates of the Camp, fatigued, shaking their heads because they didn’t find her. _Maybe next week,_ they would say through tight smiles, knowing deep down that next week would be no different.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Bellamy confessed. “After a few weeks, I told them that maybe you just didn’t want to be found.”

She bit down on her lower lip to stop it from quivering, an apology halfway out of her throat when he spoke again, voice low.

“It was hard for them to accept that you were really gone. It was—it was hard for me to accept it.” He glanced down. “I don’t think I ever really did.”

Clarke drew in a shaky breath, looking up at him. “I didn’t—I thought it would be better. To leave. I thought that by leaving,” her voice broke, “by not seeing their faces every day, I’d forget what I did for them.”

Bellamy bristled beside her. Without a second thought, she grabbed his hand. It was the same hand, she realized, that he had gently placed on her own months ago in a place that would forever haunt the darkest of their memories.

“What _we_ did. _Together,_ ” she emphasized, uttering the words like the unspoken promise it was. A promise of _you won’t be by yourself_ and _you don’t have to do this alone._

 _Together._ Three short syllables; they danced on her tongue, pressing against the grooves at the roof of her mouth and hovering to the delicate space between her top and bottom teeth. The word was a vow, an enduring oath whispered so reverently it may as well have been sacred. It echoed deep within her weary bones and pulsed through her cracked veins, written in the taut flesh around her scars.

Clarke twined their fingers together, thumb brushing the back of his hand. Her vision was marred with hot tears.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear me say it, but Bellamy,” she gripped his hand tightly, “I’m—Bellamy, I’m _so sorry_ I—”

The words were lost in a choking sob, caught in her throat. _I’m so sorry I had to leave, I’m so sorry you took care of them alone because I couldn’t stay. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry—_

 _“_ Hey,” he breathed softly, putting his arm around her and pulling her into his chest. He swallowed. “Clarke, I meant what I said at the gate. You have my forgiveness. You…you always will.”

She breathed him in. Nodding against his chest, she wondered if she would ever stop wanting this—this feeling of _home_ that she had whenever she was with him. 

There were times in the lonely woods when the trees would start to blur together, when she felt like she was drowning under the wide, open sky. Those were the times when she knew, without a doubt, that she would never find someone who would accept her and the demons in her head. There would never be someone who could stand to look at her, not when Death was always looming two steps behind her. She was alone, and she was convinced she always would be.

But she had forgotten ( _how could she have forgotten?_ ) that there was someone whose steps were as heavy as her own, that there was someone whose demons played with her own. There was someone who knew what it was like to breathe pain like it was air, who knew what it was like to suffocate under guilt’s forceful hands. 

That someone was _Bellamy._ He was the person who knew her soul like it was his own, who challenged her to be better and accepted her unconditionally in the same breath. It was _Bellamy_ , the person who fought and protected with his whole heart, who she trusted and believed in and—

And _loved._

The unequivocal revelation hit her fiercely. Her heart thrashed in her chest, forgotten tears trailing down her jawline aimlessly.

_She loved him._

How could she not? How could she not love him, this boy who carried the cruel world on his aching back, this boy who held the stars in his dark eyes? How could she not love this broken, scarred boy whose bloodstained hands matched her own?

Suddenly love wasn’t weakness. It was _strength_.

It was the two of them leaning against a tree in the middle of the night. _Whenever you’re ready._ It was the two of them walking away from the Dropship camp. _You did good here._ It was the two of them crashing into a hug larger than life and more meaningful than words. _There’s something I thought I’d never see._ It was fire flickering over bruised faces. _Had to be done._ It was walking side by side, always. _I can’t lose you too, okay?_ It was a step back, a set jaw and a hard swallow. _I was being weak._ It was endless concern and worry. _You care about him more_ and _Every three hours means every three hours._ It was wholehearted trust. _Say you have a plan._

It was _together_ , _take care of them for me, may we meet again._

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispered hoarsely against her hair. “When Raven told me you left again, I—Clarke, there aren’t even words to describe how I felt. I know you couldn’t stay after Mount Weather. And if you have to leave again, I get that. But, Clarke, I can’t—”

Confession unfinished, his hands came up to cradle her face, and he pressed his forehead against hers gently. His fingertips rested underneath her jaw with a featherlike pressure, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Voice a half-whisper, he breathed, “I _can’t_ watch you walk away again.”

Clarke shook her head without thinking, brushing their noses together lightly. She brought her hands up, resting them on his shoulders. Pulling away just enough to look at him, she managed a small smile.

There was a question in Bellamy’s furrowed brows, and hope in his guarded eyes.

“I don’t want to run anymore,” she said softly, relieved to realize that she meant every word. “I’m _so tired_ of running, Bellamy. I just—” she let out a breath at the sound of her unsteady voice. “Can we go home?”  

_Home._

_With you. With our people._

Bellamy blinked, looking at her like she was waiting for her to take it all back at any moment. When he realized she wouldn’t, he let out a short, surprised laugh, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy crap you guys, i finally updated. it's a miracle. i was super SUPER nervous to post this, please let me know what you think! We're on our way to finishing this fic guys, thanks for not giving up on me <3


	17. together

There was something different in the air between them after that.

Bellamy felt it, the tips of his fingertips tingling where they floated just beneath her jaw. He felt it in the way her breaths had turned shallow, small puffs of air landing on his collarbones.

For the first time since they had reunited, there wasn’t a wall of hurt standing between them.

It was just the two of them, huddled together in the Dropship. Speaking _I’m sorry_ ’s with their eyes, whispering _I missed you_ ’s with light touches that seemed weightless and heavy all at once. They had shifted to where Clarke was practically sitting in his lap, her fingers curling into his shoulders.

He wasn’t used to this…to being able to just look at her, to _really look_ at her.

Her blonde hair was longer than ever, spilling down her back in soft waves. There were faded scars on her cheekbones, dark shadows under her blue eyes that couldn’t seem to look away from him either.

It was strange, he noticed, how out of all of Earth’s exploding colors, he had never seen a color as brilliant and beautiful as the one manifested in her eyes. He was drawn to it, like he was drawn to everything else about her. 

_You love her,_ he thought. _You always will._

It still amazed him how this girl had climbed inside his heart and made a home there, carving her name into the spaces between his ribs.

“Bellamy,” she murmured after a brief eternity passed, and he knew that if there were any way on this godforsaken world that he could be forgiven of all of the sins he had committed, it would be in the way she said his name. Her pupils were blown wide. Dark as black holes, they pulled him in.

“I should…” his eyes dropped to her lips briefly. “I should make sure we’re safe staying here while the storm passes.”

“Yeah,” she said, hesitating. Clearing her throat, she stood. Rubbing the back of her neck, she took a few steps back. “Uh, yeah. That’s a good idea. I’ll look around, see if I can find any blankets.”

 

 

After checking the door and securing any openings, Bellamy shut the hatch at the top of the ladder. He curled his hands around the cold metal, climbing down. At the bottom, bright orange blankets were spread out on the small platform. Clarke was kneeling over them, making a makeshift bed.

His feet hit the floor, and Clarke jumped. Realizing it was just him, she let out a breath.

“You scared me.”

“Did you make a…bed?” He asked, curious.

“Uh, yeah. I found a stack of blankets over there,” she cocked her head, smoothed out a crease. “Someone must have forgotten them when we left.”

Bellamy nodded, unable to look away from the bed. The _one_ bed.

Because Clarke was Clarke, she immediately caught on to his reaction, following his line of sight to the carefully arranged blankets. She stood up, approaching him carefully.

“I just figured—”

“No, yeah. It’s cold. It’s the smartest thing to do. I get it,” he assured weakly.

“I don’t think you do,” she said, shaking her head. She stood toe-to-toe with him. Carefully, she grabbed his hand, linking their fingers.

He swallowed, the intimacy of the action surprising him. He wondered if she felt it, this heaviness in the air around them. It was like the universe was slowing down, holding its breath for this one moment.

They were souls instead of bodies, here. Souls that had longed and loved before they even knew they were longing and loving.

Clarke looked up at him, lips parted. He waited, afraid to move, afraid to break something so fragile it didn’t have a name yet. She ran her hand slowly up his chest, resting it over his heart. It was agony and it was bliss. Standing there, under the softness of her touch, made every single damn thing he had done to survive on this planet worth it. He wondered if she could feel his heartbeat pounding against her palm, loud as war drums.

 _This was inevitable,_ he thought. _We were inevitable._

Rising up on the tips of her toes, she kissed him.

Her lips were softer than rain between his. It was a tender kiss, one that broke his heart and mended it all at once. Bellamy lost himself in the taste of her lips, sweet as rainwater. Pulling her closer, he tangled his fingers in her hair, and she let out a silky sigh.

Cradling her face, he deepened the kiss. This time it was fire instead of rain, burning and blazing and bright. Her fingertips teased the hem of his shirt, skimming the skin underneath.

His skin was on fire, and he remembered that this was how phoenixes died. Bathed in glorious flames, reborn and rising from the smoldering ashes.

She would burn him; he knew she would.

He couldn’t think of a better way to die.

* * *

 

Clarke reveled in the feeling of his lips pressed against hers. It was a promise, a vow that engraved itself onto their souls with an ink that tasted like yearning and joy. His thumbs brushed her cheekbones, tilting her head upwards. The kiss changed, deepening not only physically but emotionally as well.

Parting her lips, her tongue flirting with his bottom lip.

Bellamy stilled abruptly. He started to pull back, and it was the hesitation in the action that threatened to dismantle her. It was his hesitation that told her that he had wanted to continue, but something held him back.

She felt his absence harshly, her breath gone cold. Eyebrows drawn together, lips swollen, heart yearning for more, she looked up at him. She watched his brown eyes sweep over her face.

“Clarke,” he breathed, looking down. The sadness in his voice was eminent. “I—Clarke, I can’t do this.”

Throat tightening painfully, she faltered. Thoughts flailing wildly in her mind, she couldn’t stop gravitating on the fact that she managed to ruin everything and everyone she touched.

She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. “Why?”

Gently, he tilted her head down. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, murmuring against her skin, “Because _I love you._ ”

Blinking, she stared at him, trying to convince herself that she had heard him wrong. His brown eyes were serious, soft, warm. She searched them for traces of deception that she knew she wouldn’t find.

He repeated it, this time like it was the most precious, important phrase he would ever speak. In some ways, it was.

“ _I love you_ , Clarke.” Tucking a strand of stray hair behind her ear, he whispered, “I need you to know that first.”

Bellamy brushed his lips against hers, and she wondered if she had ever really kissed anyone before.

It was like a poem, lips meeting rhythmically, flowing back and forth, giving and taking. His teeth bit gently on her lower lip, asking for permission with an impatient politeness. Eagerly, she gave it, and his tongue slipped into her mouth. She mirrored the action, dancing and feeling and tasting and _loving_.

Desire licked at her veins, and she guided them to the makeshift bed on the floor. Toeing off their boots, they stumbled, unable to part from each other for even a second. She pulled her shirt off, mind hazy and lips tingling.

Falling onto the bed, she pulled Bellamy on top of her. His weight pressed against her, and she squeezed his hips with her thighs. Blindly, she took his shirt off, tossing it to the ground.

Awed, she traced her finger down his chest, noticing scars here and there. She splayed her hand on his abs, dragging her hand down to his waistline slowly.

He pressed his lips to the bottom of her jaw, letting out a groan when she tugged at his waistband. She was interrupted when his tongue darted out at the hollow of her throat, his teeth nipping at her collarbones lightly enough to make her whine.

It was raw ecstasy, and she knew she would never get enough of it. Of _him._

Clarke didn’t believe in soulmates, not really. She didn’t believe in being a ‘half’ to someone’s ‘whole’.

But Clarke believed in Bellamy. She always had, and she always would. And she believed, with every shred of her tattered soul, that this was where they were always supposed to be.

_Together._

* * *

 

The storm raged outside, fiercely and passionately and never coming close to the way Bellamy traced over every inch of her skin with his lips. He kissed every scar, beginning with the pale pink, raised slashes that were signs of battles fought, sometimes lost and sometimes won. He ended with the scars unseen, the ones that still bled deep within her soul, scars that would never fade.

She was heaven and she was hell, and he loved her entirely.

* * *

 

When they became one in every way, Clarke dug her fingernails into his back, toes curling into the blankets. Crying out his name in a voice that she knew would only ever be reserved for him, she gazed into his eyes, confessing, _“I love you._ ”  
  
After the words left her lips, he kissed her fervently, so tenderly she unraveled once again. The taste of the ocean was on her tongue, and she couldn’t tell if it was her crying, or him.

* * *

 

With her fingers tangled in his curly mess of hair and her legs wrapped around him so tightly, Bellamy saw something.

In between flashes of euphoria, he saw a future. One of hope and of healing and of _her_.

* * *

 

His fingers gripping her hips, his lips breathing prayers of adoration against her jaw, Clarke realized that she would follow Bellamy to the ends of this world.

For she had held death in her hands, and he had carried it with her.

* * *

 

Her back arched, moans escaping her lips like sacred songs, Bellamy thought of the great epics, of ancient tragedies written from generation to generation. In those stories, the heroes never got their happy endings.

But they were not heroes, he knew, and this was not their tragedy.

* * *

 

Long after the snow stopped, exhaustion lulled them into a thick, sweet sleep. They slept, clinging to each other like only lovers do.

His arms tight around her back. Her legs wrapped around his own. His lips pressed to her tangled hair. Hers to the hollow of his throat.

Neither of them were awake to hear the other whisper the most sincere and true expressions of love, the ones mumbled in sleep, confessed by the unfiltered and unguarded mind.

Lazy, gentle rivers flowed through their dreams, trickling passed sun-warmed earth against star-speckled sunsets.

Tonight, they slept soundly, peacefully, with the knowledge that in the morning, they would go home.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30k in, the slowburn is finally over. how do you feel? you made it! 
> 
> Reviews are like crack cocaine, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Especially since this chapter is arguably the climax (no pun intended...). I'm not a huge fan of smut, so I hope this was okay and didn't completely disappoint you. 
> 
> This story is on its way to ending, thanks to all those who have read/left kudos/and commented(!!!)


	18. a blank slate

The morning air was still, untouched.

It was quiet. There was no howling, anguished wind, or harsh creaking of tired metals. The world had not yet woken, though the sun had long stretched above the towering pines. Birds whispered lullabies from their high branches.

Clarke traced a map of the cosmos up and down the length of Bellamy’s arm. It fascinated her, how sleep softened his features. She was reminded once again of just how young he really was. Of how young she really was.

If she were another girl, in another life, maybe she would have let herself imagine a gold-tinged, bright future. One of lazily linked fingers, soft grasses, warm sunshine. A future of _children_ and wrinkled smiles and white hair.

But she was Clarke, and he was Bellamy, and they lived a life where imagining the future was a fool’s game and a fool’s game only.  

For now, she spent hours (or was it years?) inhaling this quiet, lovely moment. She bit back a smile at the way his cold nose dug into her neck. Happiness crept back into her guarded heart, little by little, warming the edges with a soft glow.

Bellamy stirred at last, turning the world as he woke.

“Hey,” he breathed, voice gravelly with sleep. Pulling her close, he murmured with quiet awe, “You’re still here.”

“I’m still here,” she confirmed gently, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, thumbing the dimple in his chin.

“Good,” he smiled, crooked and sleepy and _Bellamy._ Pushing up, he rolled on top of her, boxing her in with his arms. In response, Clarke’s fingernails grazed the skin of his hips.

Looking at the hopeful expression on his face, masked only by explosive freckles and chaotic hair, she couldn’t help but imagine a future where the two of them grew to be as old as they felt.

“I love you,” she said, the words leaving her lips without asking for permission.

“I love you,” he echoed, surging down and kissing her like he could taste tomorrow on her lips.

They spent the morning making up for lost time, loving each other differently than they had the night before. Heavy-lidded sighs escaped her as he pressed slow kisses down the valley of her spine.

This time, there was no hungry clashing of teeth. There was no need to leave possessive marks along the column of his throat, or to run angry red lines along his shoulder blades with the tips of her fingers. It was slow, rocking back and forth like a boat in easy waters.

It was quiet, like the morning.

Deliberate, unhurried, satisfying.

The world could wait a little longer for them to make up for lost time. 

* * *

 

Sleeping bags rolled up tightly, bags fastened over shoulders, Bellamy and Clarke trekked back to Camp. The Dropship was a fading figure in the background, the tattered, blood red curtain hanging from the door waving them a bittersweet farewell.

Snow blanketed the ground, blinding white and all-consuming. The sky, the trees, the ground, all were a bright, perfect white. A blank slate of a world met them as they walked through the powdered snow. It crunched beneath their feet, leaving their socks damp and toes cold. The sun was obscured by a sheet of clouds, a white orb whose warmth struggled to reach them.

They trudged through the forest, eager to make it back to Camp before nightfall. Bellamy tracked their progress against the map of the land in his mind.

Clarke was quiet. She walked behind him, stepping in his footprints. Whenever Bellamy commented on landmarks they passed, or relayed insignificant information the Arkers had discovered about a specific area, her answers sounded brief, distracted.

“Clarke,” he began, careful. He turned to face her. “You don’t want to go back to Camp.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement; one she didn’t outright deny. He could see the mental battle she was fighting in the way her brows furrowed and her hands clenched at her sides.

“I…” Biting her lip, she didn’t meet his eyes.

He waited.

She met his eyes at last, and he could see that she had made her decision. He prepared himself for whatever that answer might be, squaring his shoulders and shifting his weight.

“I want to go back with you,” she said, and it was the way that she said _you_ that made his fears dissipate like cold breath in the wintry air.

Before he could reply, she rushed forward unexpectedly. Exclaims of _It’s the river!_ and _It’s frozen, I bet we could walk over it_ filtered back to him on the coattails of the windy chill brushing against his cheeks.

They surveyed the river. It had frozen, not completely through but enough for them to walk over it. Tentatively, they stepped onto the frozen river, Clarke grabbing Bellamy’s forearm. Together, they balanced across the clouded ice, breaths hitching whenever a sharp crack formed beneath their feet.

When their boots hit the mud on the other side, they clung to each other. They glanced back at the wide, frozen river like they couldn’t believe they hadn’t fallen through the ice.

A surprised, relieved laugh bubbled out of Clarke. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards at the sound.

“I can’t believe we made it,” Clarke said.

He shook his head in similar disbelief.

The snow was lighter on this side of the river, not as deep or imposing. It blanketed the ground instead of smothering it. Here and there, green leaves peeked out at them, winking in the wind.

They pushed forward, each step one step closer to warmth, to shelter, to home.

* * *

 

“I feel…different,” Clarke confessed once they reached a ravine, adjusting the pack over her sore shoulders.

The wariness was clear in his voice. “Different how?”

“I don’t know.” She steadied herself on the thick trunk of a slouched tree, catching her breath. They had been walking nearly all day. “I feel…cautiously optimistic.”

Bellamy raised an eyebrow, amused. “Cautiously optimistic?”

Maybe it was the playfulness in his eyes, the way tiny snowflakes lodged themselves into the ends of his hair. Maybe it was the way he looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was really there, that she was really _with him_.

Whatever it was that possessed Clarke to bend down and crunch snow into a ball between her palms, also possessed her to throw said snowball towards his chest. The snow splattered over his shirt, leaving shrapnel of ice on the fabric. The look he gave her was enough to make her laugh.  

“Did you—” he glanced back down at his shirt, at her dripping, guilty fingertips. “Clarke, did you just throw a _snowball_ at me?”

Her answer was a broad smile. She ran through the snow, knowing she wouldn’t have to wait long for his impending counterattack. A snowball whizzed beyond her head, exploding on the tree branch above her and sprinkling snow in her hair. Her lungs burned in a good way, cold breaths soothing her dry throat.

 _I can’t believe this is actually happening,_ she thought. _Is that_ me _laughing? I haven’t felt like this since...since forever, it feels like. I can’t remember the last time I felt so_ free _._

She prepared herself to throw another snowball when Bellamy tackled her to the ground. He landed on top of her, the soft, powdered snow breaking their fall.

Clarke laughed. She tangled her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and kissed his cheek impulsively. The same cheek, she realized too late, that she had kissed months ago, when she had left him.

The laughter died quickly, extinguished in the thin air.

Bellamy stilled above her, body growing tense in order to accommodate the familiar heaviness of pain and regret and loneliness associated with that day and the many before and after it.

“Sorry.” He cursed under his breath, the sound of his low voice rippling through her. “I—Sorry.”

“What are _you_ sorry for?” Tears stung her eyes. “I’m the one who left, I’m the one who—”

“I wasn’t enough for you then,” he interrupted, voice raw. “Clarke, I…I want to be enough for you now.”

A contradiction of a man looked down at her, eyes as soft and brown as sun-warmed earth, features as hard and sharp as stone. He was a gentle, good man; one with blood staining his rough, calloused palms.  He blurred the line between savior and sinner, redrawing and erasing it with every action he took, with every word he spoke.

He was her weakness. Her strength.

“You _are_ more than enough, Bellamy,” she stressed. “You are _everything_ , okay?”

She faltered, desperate to make him understand.

The look he gave her was open, vulnerable. His dark eyelashes fluttered, like he was surprised to hear those words coming from her mouth, like he didn’t know just how much she needed him and cared about him and _loved_ him.

At last, he nodded softly. She could just see the beginnings of acceptance filtering into his eyes. Kissing her softly, he poured his emotions into the way his lips moved against hers, and she knew, without a doubt, that he felt the same about her.

“Come on,” he said, standing and pulling her up with him. Brushing the snow off his clothes, he smiled faintly, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you threw a snowball at me.”

Clarke bit her lip. “I can’t believe it either. I just—” _wanted to have fun, to feel like an eighteen-year old girl for once in my life._ “I wanted to do something _normal_.”

“The kids do stuff like that all the time, now,” he said. “A week or two ago, they made this huge fort out of snow. They had this big snowball fight. Pretty much everyone joined in, even Kane and your mom.”

His words were wistful, like he wished she would’ve been there to see it. They were hopeful too, though, like he knew she would get a chance to see something like it again.

She found herself hoping the same thing.

“I’m glad they’re having fun,” she said, sincere.

Bellamy looked at her, serious and meaningful. He eyed the snow still stubbornly clinging to her hair. Her cheeks were flushed from running, a sign of health and life and laughter that strengthened the blues in her eyes.

“I think it means they’re healing,” he offered.

 _Does that mean we’re healing too?_ she wondered, looking and him and finding the same question written across his features.

“I think it does,” she answered aloud.

The smile he gave her was brighter than a summer sunrise, bleeding with tragic beauty. They started walking again, this time side by side.

“Just a little farther,” he said, and she couldn’t help but agree with him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to all of you who left comments for the last chapter. You guys made my week, seriously. Sorry this took so long, I work at the hospital and they switched my shift so i'm working pretty much all day and am super exhausted when I get home so writing has been a challenge. We're almost to the end guys, thanks for sticking with me this whole time, it's been a fun ride. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts! :D


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